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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24340942">Offshoots</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/madstoryteller999/pseuds/madstoryteller999'>madstoryteller999</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Naruto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Swap, Arranged Marriage, Bar-Hopping, F/M, Football | Soccer, Gen, Ichiraku Ramen (Naruto), M/M, T&amp;I, Tattoos, Tea, The Academy, Yakuza, teashop</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:28:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>51,139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24340942</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/madstoryteller999/pseuds/madstoryteller999</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A number of Naruto one-shots: canon, AU, and everything in between. Accepting requests at my tumblr (linked in profile) :)<br/></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Haruno Sakura/Hatake Kakashi, Hyuuga Hinata/Uchiha Sasuke, Hyuuga Hinata/Uzumaki Naruto, Hyuuga Neji/Yamanaka Ino, Nara Shikamaru/Sai, Uchiha Itachi/Umino Iruka, Uchiha Itachi/Uzumaki Naruto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>550</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>967</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Beautiful Game</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Prompt: "Hmm... maybe some sort of age-reversal fic? I really like seeing how authors choose to deal with both the logistics of how living through different life events (ie if Sakura had to grow up in the war) and being different ages influence personalities and relationship dynamics." - Waxflower</p><p>Pairing: Sakura/Kakashi</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?”</p><p>Sakura’s brow furrows. “Four,” she decides.</p><p>Without warning, the probing fingers on her ankle tighten.</p><p>“<em>Fucking hell,</em>” Sakura hisses, body jolting.</p><p>Ino’s attention is momentarily diverted from the handsome sports trainer bandaging her own injury to direct a sneer her way. “You’re too old to experience a four, forehead.”</p><p>Sakura scowls straight ahead. At twenty seven, she’s far from the youngest person on the team, but she’s hardly ancient. Ino’s not wrong though, she acknowledges reluctantly. Her body has become worn after years of injuries; even a rolled ankle can be debilitating, aggravating the pain of old injuries.</p><p>It doesn’t make Sakura any less pissed, however.</p><p>“Didn’t you take an oath or something? To <em>not do</em> <em>harm </em>to your patients.”</p><p>“That would be the Hippocratic oath,” Sai says smiling down at her. “And I am an athletic trainer, not a doctor. I am allowed to use less-than-proper means when my patient attempts to lie to me. Let’s try this one more time: on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your pain?”</p><p>“Seven,” Sakura admits sourly.</p><p>“Good,” Sai nods. “You will sit out on practice tomorrow.”</p><p>Sakura’s nostrils flare. “Like hell. We have a game against Germany three days from now. You really think you can make me—”</p><p>“And you will sit here for the next three hours and ice it in front of me,” Sai finishes pleasantly, “or I will not give you medical approval to play in that game. You think coach Tsunade won’t listen to me if I tell her you could be out of commission for the rest of the season if you kick a ball with that ankle tomorrow?”</p><p>Sakura is stiff with incredulity. Where the fuck had this new head sports trainer come from? She knows that he had been hired as a replacement for Yamada—a meek, nervous character that Sakura, incidentally, had spent years steamrolling over. Had Tsunade found out, she wonders. Or had it been Shizune?</p><p>He drops a plastic bag of ice beside her leg.</p><p>Gaze narrowed, she grabs the bag and places it over the swollen part of her ankle. The first contact is always the worst. Her mouth thins. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long before her skin begins to numb.</p><p>“Could you turn on the TV, possibly?” Ino asks in a sickeningly sweet voice. The sports trainer beside her immediately obliges.</p><p>The flat screen emits the sound of a roaring crowd before the image settles, of green field and two teams and a score.</p><p>France – 2, Japan – 8</p><p>The stadium is filled to capacity, Sakura notes from the corner of her eye. A pair of teenagers wave the Japanese flag fanatically, faces split with beaming smiles. Around them, there is a sea of faces painted in red and white.</p><p>Sakura’s mood darkens further.</p><p>She doesn’t begrudge them their audience, of course. She hasn’t had time to watch the men’s games, but she has heard that the Japanese men’s team has been doing unprecedentedly well this world cup.</p><p>It is, simply, this: after grueling hours of practice, sweat, and blood, after defeating the United States, the best team in the world, in the last women’s FIFA world cup tournament, there were two reporters waiting for Sakura’s team when they landed back in Narita airport; even in the finals, their crowd had been dominated by U.S. fans; and even now, after their historic win, their last two games had not been aired on any sports channel with the same reach and popularity as the one currently displayed on this flat screen.</p><p>So…yes, actually, Sakura very much begrudges them their audience. She begrudges them the money they’ve been showered with, the attention they have been given, and the love that this country has suddenly found within itself to offer them, when none of these things have been offered to her.</p><p>She presses the ice more firmly to her ankle.</p><p>The aerial view on the screen shifts to two foreign reporters, perhaps insultingly awed as they look on. They watch most of the team go, but wave excitedly as one figure walks by.</p><p>Ino straightens excitedly in her medical chair. She whistles. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I wouldn’t mind taking that one on a spin.”</p><p>When she sees Sakura’s blank expression, her face contorts in incredulity. “Don’t tell me…you haven’t even heard about Hatake Kakashi. Do you live under a rock, Haruno?”</p><p>Sakura’s disinterested gaze drifts back to the screen. The camera man darts between the overexcited reporters and a bored looking young man with riotous, dyed silver hair and sharp, almost delicate features. It’s a face that hasn’t fully come into its own yet, but the marks of exceptional good looks are already there.</p><p>“Kakashi,” the foreigner says brightly, “what a stunning game. A truly, stunning game. You’ve had an incredible debut at the world stage!”</p><p>The reporter speaks English, with what Sakura guesses is a British accent. She has difficulty distinguishing between the British English accent and the Australian English accent, so she isn’t entirely sure.</p><p>The woman reporter beside him joins in, also with the same accent. “At only eighteen, you are the youngest player currently in the tournament. We know that you were too young to participate in the last world cup, but you met the minimum age to represent Japan in the Copa América last year. What kept you from representing Japan until now? What changed your mind?”</p><p>Her words are quick and breathy, fawning as well. Her honeyed hair obscures her face as she leans precariously forward to thrust her microphone beneath his chin.</p><p>He gives her a long, cool look. Sakura watches.</p><p>“Next question.”</p><p>The female reporter flinches. Sakura rolls her eyes and turns her head away.</p><p>She hears the woman recoup, still adoring. “Of course. Now, you’ve undoubtedly heard the praise in response to your performance so far. There are those who have started to call you the prodigy of the decade. They believe you will soon be able to go head to head with the world’s top players. How do you respond to that?”</p><p>There isn’t a pause, before the young player answers without any particular inflection, “I agree.”</p><p>Sai walks back into the room, scanning her chart. His eyebrows raise when he sees the screen. “Ah, I’ve heard about the men’s team’s newcomer. An article I read this morning theorized he could carry Japan on his back into the finals.” He looks back down at his papers. “That’s sentiment speaking, of course, not rationality. Next cup, perhaps.”</p><p>Ino nods sagely. “The rest of the team isn’t good enough to keep up with him.”</p><p>“We know you have a limited amount of time, Kakashi, so one last question for you,” the male reporter says hastily. “As my cohost has said, experts have already begun to compare you to the likes of Messi, Ronaldo and Neymar, some of the greatest forwards today as well as in football history. Is there anything you have learned from watching them?”</p><p>There’s a pause, this time. And it’s warranted, because he has the gall to say, “Nothing comes to mind. I don’t pay much attention to them.”</p><p>Ino’s jaw drops in shock. Sai looks up again. Sakura kneads the ice studiously into her ankle. She isn’t entirely surprised by the answer. Hatake Kakashi seems like he has no shortage of arrogance.</p><p>“I-Is that so?” the reporter says. There’s glee in his voice. He knows what kind of a headline this will make. “Your fans might want to know then—who <em>do</em> you look up to?”</p><p>“Do you need new ice?” Sai asks, gaze moving to her once more.</p><p>Sakura gropes the bag and finds more liquid than solid. “Probably.” She reaches over to hand him the melted bag—</p><p>“If I had to point to a person, I suppose you could say Haruno.”</p><p>She drops the bag of ice. Their heads all turn instinctively to the screen, despite the sound the bag makes as it hits the ground. She is vaguely aware from a trickling noise that it spills.</p><p>“Haruno?” the reporter repeats, eyes wide. “I’m not aware of any players in the league with that name. Is this one of your predecessors, a past player on the Japanese national football team?”</p><p>He’s beginning to look frantic, looking meaningfully to his partner for assistance. She shakes her head and looks equally panicked.</p><p>“Haruno is not my predecessor,” Hatake Kakashi says calmly, “she is a current player on Japan’s national team as well.”</p><p>“Oh!” the female reporter cries out. “Is she on the…women’s football team?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>The male reporter doesn’t seem to know how to react. “The woman’s team…what an unpredictable answer!”</p><p>“Is it?” Kakashi says disinterestedly. “It seems clear to me that, at this time, she is the best forward in the world.”</p><p>He bows his head and leaves to join the rest of his team. The stunned reporters gape silently in front of the camera. The channel switches hastily to commercial.</p><p>Sakura becomes aware of a hard smacking sensation on her arm. She turns her head and finds Ino and the others staring at her.</p><p>“What,” the blonde goalkeeper says, voice deadly, “the <em>fuck</em>?”</p><p>She has no answers.</p>
<hr/><p>She leaves her house to go to practice at six the next morning and is surrounded by a sea of reporters.</p><p>“Haruno-san! What is your response to Hatake-san’s astonishing claim after the men’s national team’s victory over France?”</p><p>Cameras flash blindingly in her eyes. She knocks into more than one body trying to make her way through the mob.</p><p>“Have you two met in person? How did you meet—”</p><p>“Are you aware that supermodel Okunugi Chiharu recently professed her love for Japan’s star player on social media two days ago? What is your response to the model encroaching on your developing relationship?”</p><p>Stupid fucking reporters. Stupid <em>fucking </em>Hatake Kakashi.</p><p>“Haruno-san? Do you really think a female player can be called the best forward in the world?”</p><p>That brings her to a dead halt. It’s delivered slowly, condescendingly, and worse, by a woman. Sakura knows it’s to provoke her. She knows, and it works.</p><p>She turns on her heel, pushing her duffel bag behind her.</p><p>“What did you say?” Sakura asks, eyebrow arching.</p><p>The petite woman in front of her doesn’t flinch. She repeats the same line, evenly.</p><p>Sakura’s voice is deadly sweet. “Why would you ask that?”</p><p>She brushes her hair back with one hand. “Many would say that the women’s game is generally considerably inferior in skill to that of the men’s. Not to mention, there is an undeniable physical difference: men are faster and stronger. You can praise the women’s teams all you want when they play against each other, but if you were to pit them against their male equivalent, they would undeniably lose. There is simply little question of that fact.”</p><p>Sakura pushes her sunglasses back on her head. She knows she probably has dark under eyes from poor sleep. She doesn’t really care.</p><p>“Ronaldo’s top speed is greater than Messi’s. He’s larger than Messi, stronger than Messi. Is he undeniably, then, the better player?” she asks coolly.</p><p>The reporter is quick in her response. “To compare their difference to the difference between the average man and the average woman is an unfair conflation of the two. Obviously the latter gap is far more considerable—”</p><p>“Muscle mass doesn’t always aid you in football. On the contrary, it can slow you down. Being larger can make you easier to intercept. Creativity and strategic acceleration often matter more than top speed. The average man and the average woman perhaps cannot physically do the same things,” Sakura says, “but I would maintain that they do not need to. I am slighter, and I am all the more agile for it.”</p><p>The reporter listens intently, expression hard to read.</p><p>“I don’t think many people go around saying female ballerinas exhibit less skill than their male counterparts,” Sakura finishes, voice cold. “So if there is a question to be made of skill, if you’re going to ask me why women’s teams seem generally to play a different caliber of game than men’s, then you can look hard at the investments that have gone into our careers compared to men’s. You can look at the amount of money we, our coaches, and our trainers are paid compared to theirs—because training women is still less prestigious than training men. You can look at the amount of promotion that goes into our achievements compared to theirs. And you can look at a society that has raised us questioning at every turn why we would want to get dirty, why we would want to <em>play</em>—when it has let them and praised them for doing the same.”</p><p>The other reporters are all silent around her now, their recording devices held aloft to capture her words.</p><p>The reporter in front of her has an odd smile on her face.</p><p>“So do you stand by Hatake-san’s remark, Haruno-san? That you are, in fact, the greatest forward right now in the world?”</p><p>Sakura doesn’t think before the words are out of her mouth.</p><p>“Of course I stand by it.”</p>
<hr/><p>At lunch, Sakura bends over in her seat and buries her face in her knees.</p><p>“Of course I stand by it,” Ino bellows along with the video of her saying the same on the TV. She sits down beside her and slams her tray on the counter. “Who would have known, forehead, that you would make it to the BBC at the ripe old age of twenty seven?”</p><p>“Huh?” Temari barks, eyebrow twitching. As it happens, she is to turn twenty nine in less than a week.</p><p>“Did I say old?” Ino giggles nervously. “I misspoke! Ah, haha…did you see those fancy English subtitles?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Temari grunts. She turns to look at Sakura. “Nice job.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Sakura mutters, scratching her head.</p><p>Ino chews thoughtfully on a chunk of fish. “Well, they’re making a big deal out of it now, but we all know it’s because that favored and admittedly very cute Hatake hunk-to-be started this. We already make significantly less than the U.S. women’s team, and even they don’t make as much as their men’s team. Who knows if the association will make even a dent in so significant a gap or if this will all just…blow over.”</p><p>They give each other commiserating looks.</p><p>“Is this live?” someone in the cafeteria shouts suddenly.</p><p>“Must be,” someone responds.</p><p>Sakura’s head to turns to the screen, frowning.</p><p>Hatake looks like he has been caught unawares in the middle of a parking lot outside the stadium where he trains, and his displeasure is transparent on his face. Just as he looks like he’s about to force his way through—indeed, seemingly live <em>on the</em> <em>BBC</em>—he appears to make eye contact with someone off-screen. Glowering transparently, he remains in place.</p><p>“Mr. Hatake, your comments after your game yesterday caused an explosion overnight.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>This reporter, unlike the woman who had talked to him the previous night, is not put off by his attitude. “Have you had a chance to hear Ms. Haruno’s statements this morning?”</p><p>Hatake’s eyes narrow. “…Yes.”</p><p>“Do you have any response to her remarks?”</p><p>The young man stares at the reporter for an uncomfortably long time in silence. The cafeteria is also silent.</p><p>“I agree,” he says finally.</p><p>The reporter waits. He prompts, eventually, “Could you elaborate on that?”</p><p>The player gives a low, irritated sigh.</p><p>“There is obvious, glaring inequity in the infrastructure of this system,” he says shortly. “It’s perpetuated by monoliths like the FIFA organization and—pointedly—by some of the most prominent male players today: men whose behavior continues to go unchecked and men who choose to remain silent. That Haruno has been able to progress to the extent she has even given her obstacles is nothing short of a miracle.”</p><p>“So you maintain the remarks you made yesterday?”</p><p>“Obviously.”</p><p>“How do you think Ms. Haruno would fare if she indeed played in the men’s game, directly against the legends you believe she surpasses?”</p><p>Sakura watches as his eyes narrow again. “It’s not the men’s game. It’s <em>the </em>game. We all play it. And I believe that if she had teammates who allowed her to do what she does best in this hypothetical scenario, then there is no question. Her games have never been televised in this country to the general populace. Internationally, commentators have noted her potential—no one’s listened. Who will watch Japan when Japan fails to watch Japan? Watch the recordings yourself. You’ll see.”</p><p>He turns on his heel without another word, pulling the hood of his sweater over his head.</p><p>Sakura stares at the screen, disturbed.</p>
<hr/><p>Months pass. The mob around her house dissipates—it follows her, instead, to the stadium she practices at. They want to know how often she practices, how long she practices, what her family thinks, how she was encouraged or deterred when she was young.</p><p>Hatake commanded the world to watch, and suddenly, it does.</p><p>It’s not just her, thankfully. The crowds that begin to appear at their games come to watch her, curious, and grow enamored with the women around her too. Channels start to televise their games. Her team is ecstatic at the attention. Tsunade is too, because there’s suddenly more money flooding in, and now they have new training equipment.</p><p>Sakura is…conflicted.</p><p>The interviews continue. Reporters have become more dogged in asking her about him. She doesn’t lie when she says she knows very little. They ask him about her too. It becomes something of an international joke that they have never met and that, somehow, their names have become inextricable.</p>
<hr/><p>Still, it is inevitable that they should meet.</p><p>It happens five months after the Japan-France game, at a conference in the middle of London.</p><p>Around ten of them, the apparently most ‘promising talent in football’ are directed to a long table at the head of a massive conference room. This moniker has Sakura’s head spinning, because nothing about her has substantially changed, but she has somehow been forcefully removed from anonymity nonetheless.</p><p>Sakura is one of two women invited. The other is from the U.S. women’s team.</p><p>They are the first ones to enter the conference room, and they do so well in advance of the actual conference. They share similarly nervous smiles in the large, empty room where everything seems to echo. The exchange is bolstering. Unfortunately, their names are placed on opposite sides of the center. She scans the lineup, finds the usual long-standing big names at the center, then the newcomers, a couple of players from Brazil’s team on one side, Hatake on the other…and beside him, her.</p><p>HARUNO SAKURA</p><p>She blinks and her eyes sting. She grits her teeth, shoves back the chair, and sits down.</p><p>She knows why she’s here. She knows that if she had said nothing that morning outside her house, if she had just bulldozed through those reporters and said nothing at all, none of this might have happened. Hatake’s remark would easily have blown over as the outlandish opinion of a young player trying to make waves.</p><p>She knows this, but she still can’t get rid of the sense that she is here fundamentally because of him. Every single female player—every single one of them who has loved this beautiful game—has shouted into the void their entire careers. The world listens now because it’s the first time a male player has made such a bold claim. It is, in part, because of him.</p><p>She…dislikes it.</p><p>Intellectually, she understands, that this has been the missing piece all along: men willing to use their privilege to help them. Sakura’s is a bullheaded personality, though, and she has always wanted to do it all by herself. It’s what sharpened her on the field even when no one was paying attention, even when there weren’t decent trainers or coaches or an audience willing to watch her.</p><p>She’s in the middle of chugging water when she hears the chair scrape against the raised platform floor. She lowers her head to look out of the corner of the eye, and finally sees him in person.</p><p>He’s on the taller end of football players—certainly taller than her. But where some players like Ronaldo are packed with obvious muscle, his build is leaner, sinewy rather than bulky. He is somehow pale, unlike Sakura, despite the hours they both must spend outside in the sun. As he sits, he smells sharply of genmaicha tea and peppermint.</p><p>She turns in her chair to stare at him. He stares straight ahead.</p><p>She finds herself vaguely annoyed. She faces forward again as more players begin to file in.</p><p>After they are all seated, the audience is finally permitted to enter. The reporters arrive with them and crouch near the front, cameras already flashing. She tries to keep her expression blank even as irritation surges within her.</p><p>“Thank you everyone,” the host of the panel says, voice silencing the room. “Every year, we gather the world’s top players to hold this event in the center of London. This year’s lineup is, perhaps, our most exciting yet. We understand that you all have many questions, which you submitted ahead of this conference. If yours was selected, your name will be called and a microphone will be passed to you. We apologize that we are unable to address the full volume of questions at this time, but we must respect the very hectic schedule of these incredible players.”</p><p>The audience hums in acknowledgement.</p><p>“Let us get started without further ado. Our first question is from Rafael Cortez, Spain.”</p><p>A microphone is passed to one of the audience members, who stands. “My question is for Mr. Messi…”</p><p>Sakura is quick to tune out both the following questions and the answers. She spins the bottlecap idly between her fingers. She wonders what the rest of the team are doing at the practice she has missed to attend this. They have a game in less than a week, and she’s been wanting to—</p><p>“This question is for both Kakashi Hatake and Sakura Haruno.” A broken voice that can only belong to an adolescent boy reaches her ears. Sakura straightens in attention at the mention of her name.</p><p>The body beside her doesn’t shift at all.</p><p>“I was wondering…” His voice breaks, and he reddens, clearing his throat. “I was wondering if you’ve ever scrimmaged against each other. And if not, would you be open to it in the future—for a charity event or something like that?”</p><p>Sakura doesn’t really expect Hatake to move toward the microphone, based on his behavior during interviews. True to precedent, he does not. After an awkward pause, in which she see the boy’s expression start to fall, Sakura grabs the microphone.</p><p>“Actually, this is the first time we have met,” she says. A shocked rumble moves through the audience. Cameras begin to flash in a frenzy. “But—yes. I would, of course, be open to scrimmaging. Like all of you, I can see that Hatake-san is already a frighteningly talented player, even though he is young and far from reaching his full potential.”</p><p>When she leans back away from the microphone, she finds that he’s still staring straight ahead, expression stoic. After a moment, though, she squints. Is it her imagination or are his cheeks…flushed?</p><p>Probably the heat, she decides. It is getting rather hot in the conference room thanks to all the bodies crammed into it. She lifts her water bottle to drain the last of her water.</p><p>“This is another question for Mr. Hatake,” a grown woman says, voice smooth. “I think it’s extremely laudable that you have—and so early in your career—chosen to speak up for Ms. Haruno’s talent. In doing so, you’ve also commented on the unequal treatment of male players and female players. Do you have anything to say to other players in the men’s league, including the men sitting beside you, who have chosen to remain silent on this topic, even decades into their careers?”</p><p>Discomfort spreads in the room like spilled oil, slow and steady. Sakura, meanwhile, is simultaneously shocked and delighted at this woman’s brazen indifference.</p><p>“I would say they are either self-involved or insecure. And I would say, to the ones in this panel, that this is as good a time as any to break their silence,” Hatake declares lazily.</p><p>Brash laugher bursts out from one of the players on the other end of the table. Sakura isn’t as familiar with the players in the men’s league, but she knows he is German.</p><p>“I am sure Ms. Haruno is very talented, Hatake,” the man says condescendingly, “but you’re too young to identify true star power. It’s not with the women, as pretty as they are sometimes to look at. Everything looks shiny in the beginning, and the encasement of a female body is undoubtedly easy to be distracted by—”</p><p>A high pitched noise echoes through the room as the figure beside her grabs his microphone with lightning speed, half-raised out of his chair. Sakura looks at him and finds him as she has never seen him before in any of those interviews, even with the rudest of reporters.</p><p>His mouth is trembling with rage.</p><p>He is so new to this, Sakura remembers; she’s weathered comments like this her entire life, and here he is, seething, gaze slitted. She smiles lightly and then taps him on the wrist. His gaze flies to her, young and furious.</p><p>She eases the microphone from his hand and brings it near her mouth, smiling.</p><p>“I’m a busy woman, sir. But I’m willing to make time for a scrimmage, at your convenience. Feel free to bring the press.”</p><p>The other player—fuck, she still doesn’t know his name—laughs incredulously. But the audience begins to go absolutely wild, and it’s hard to hear what anyone is saying. She hopes one of the reporters writes this down and makes it tomorrow’s headline, if only to hold the other man to her challenge.</p><p>The host’s attempts to calm the conference room fail miserably.</p>
<hr/><p>Smiling, Sakura receives the two cups of coffee she had ordered from the waiter and gives him a word of thanks. Following the conference, most of the players have headed here, to the hotel’s famous rooftop lounge. They eye Sakura with a mix of disgruntled and resentful looks as they sip drinks from the bar.</p><p>So far, only one player has stepped out onto the open roof looking over the city below. Sakura bows her head in mock politeness to the men around the bar before nudging the door onto the roof open to join him.</p><p>He must hear her footsteps, but he doesn’t turn.</p><p>“Coffee?” Sakura asks.</p><p>“I prefer tea,” Hatake says shortly.</p><p>Her mouth twists. How un-cute. “I’m from the same place you are, and I know exactly how you’re feeling—you need the caffeine. Drink.”</p><p>He turns to look at her, expression vaguely irritated. Grudgingly, however, his hands leave the railing to accept the coffee. Sakura sips hers and watches him over the rim of her cup.</p><p>He manages to look like a disgruntled cat as he swallows the coffee, face blanching at the taste.</p><p>She stifles a smile.</p><p>They sip in silence for a few minutes.</p><p>Eventually, she turns to ask him. “So. How exactly did you end up watching my games?”</p><p>“Accidentally,” he says shortly. “I was in the area.”</p><p>“Hm,” she hums. “How old were you?”</p><p>He stares straight ahead. After a long silence, when it seems clear she won’t just leave, he grunts, “Fifteen.”</p><p>“Ah,” she says, turning her back to the view. She rests her elbows against the railing and leans toward him. “Is that when you fell in love with me?”</p><p>He rears back from her.</p><p>“I’m not like them,” Hatake hisses, eyes snapping towards the lounge, where the other players are visible through the glass. “Any comments I’ve made stem solely from a practical evaluation of skill, nothing more and nothing less.”</p><p>Sakura cups her face in her hand and stares at him. “I know.”</p><p>She leans closer. His ears burn.</p><p>“Cute,” she says softly, gaze resting on them.</p><p>He notices the direction of her gaze; one hand twitches upward as though to cover his ear, before he abandons the motion, no doubt realizing its futility. It’s too late.</p><p>“I didn’t notice it until the end,” she acknowledges, tilting her head. “You hid it very well. But, through no fault of your own, you are young.”</p><p>Hatake turns away from her, face grim like he’s setting up for a penalty kick.</p><p>“I don’t expect a response,” he says seriously, hatefully. “Not until I can stand on the same field as you and say I’m your equal. So don’t bother saying anything either way until then, because <em>I won’t hear it</em>.”</p><p>Sakura’s smile gentles. “When you’re young, it’s hard to tell the difference between love and idolatry.”</p><p>His head shifts back toward her, gaze sharp.</p><p>“You’ll learn over time,” she shrugs, placing the coffee cup precariously on the railing.</p><p>Her eyes widen when her chin is grabbed and her head is turned. Lips, hot and smooth and just a little clumsy, land on hers.</p><p>Sakura pulls away, gaping. “What was that?”</p><p>His face is red, but his expression is stoic. “A kiss.” How confident for someone who is so obviously inexperienced.</p><p>She gapes for one more second. Then she hits him over his head, open-palmed. “You’re a million years too early to try to steal a kiss from me, Hatake.”</p><p>“I know,” he says, grunting in pain. He dances away from her, like a child. When he’s far enough from her to be safe, he straightens. “But I do know the difference.”</p><p>“Do you?” she challenges.</p><p>His expression changes. His gaze is suddenly, unnervingly intent on her. “You’re not someone I want to worship, Haruno-san. You’re someone I want to touch.”</p><p>The way his voice lowers as he says it makes Sakura stiffen.</p><p>Before she can respond, he gives her a stiff bow, like a samurai to a vassal lord, and turns on his heel. Sakura stares after him, first in shock, then in anger.</p><p>“Ugh, cute,” she mutters, frowning as she upends her cup. She glares at the view.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>Author's Note:</strong>
</p><p>I have a confession to make...I am a wannabe soccer fan (apologies for the Americanism). I am truly sorry if I've managed--and I very likely have--to mess up any fundamental facts about how soccer operates.</p><p>This also became kind of feminist rant-y? Yeah. Not sorry about that :P</p><p>Additionally, this is notably the fluffiest thing I've written in a long time lol. Let me know what you think!!</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Disclaimer: Images aren't mine! Our young, urban Kakashi lol, so trendy :P, from <a href="https://kdyboocrea-blog.tumblr.com/">here</a>, I believe. Couldn't find a Sakura football/soccer image so settling for this from <a href="https://picsart.com/i/sticker-323136759268211">here</a> (please ignore the symbol on the top lmao).</p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Interrogation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Pairing: Ino/Neji</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ino had spent most of her life loathing Konoha’s Torture and Interrogation Force.</p><p>As a child, T&amp;I had stolen her father at odd hours of the night, only to return him looking troubled and wan days later. Although neither she nor her mom ever brought it up, the following nights had been ones of restless sleep for all of them, perturbed by her father’s shouts as he relived the things he had seen.</p><p>(The things he had done).</p><p>This was not to say her mother was without her own demons. All in all, in fact, both her parents looked much happier when they were at the clan flower shop.</p><p>From a young age, Ino had thus learned where the recipe for happiness could be found for a Yamanaka. It was undoubtedly the flower shop. It was where both of her parents would retire, contentedly tending to variations of flora for the rest of their days. Almost all Yamanakas did.</p><p>Being allergic to flowers was, indeed, an unheard of condition among members of her clan.</p><p>Ino hadn’t realized she was until she was ten.</p><p>She had finally been given permission to work in the shop, but the longer hours had only revealed what she had missed during shorter visits. After her first shift, red, blotchy hives had sprouted all along her skin beneath her clothes. Ino had been angry and ashamed; she had hidden the traitor marks from her parents and friends. She hid them still, now, and continued to work in small shifts at the shop. Some jutsus were handy in covering up the symptoms.</p><p>But the dream of the flower shop had been stricken down, nevertheless. Cruelly so.</p><p>Perhaps, still, she considered now, if certain events had not occurred as they had—perhaps it was possible that she still could have avoided T&amp;I.</p><p>The facts were: on paper, Ino had been the top ‘kunoichi’ in her year. But that hadn’t really meant much; she had never tested at the same level as the top of her class. Like Shikamaru, she had been distracted by other things while at the academy (though not the same things): boys, dresses, crushes. Anything other than learning the skills that she <em>knew </em>would send her straight to T&amp;I.</p><p>By all accounts, no one could have thought Ino would have ended up here—even her own father had believed she wouldn’t make it, had seemed happier for it. She didn’t have the grades, the track record, or the necessary recommendations.</p><p>Promotion of ‘elite chunin’ into the department should have passed over her. It <em>had </em>in the regular recruiting cycle.</p><p>Of course, then Ino had gone and fucked everything up.</p><p>It had been a late night out—the alcohol had been sweet but heady. She had been walking back humming to herself, when she had seen the man beating his son right there in the open, unafraid of censure, confident in his own perverted power.</p><p>The boy couldn’t have been more than seven, too. He hadn’t even begged for it to stop, only kept grasping at his father’s pant leg, as though yearning for the one morsel of painless contact to ground himself. To survive the barrage.</p><p>Ino had entered the man’s mind and broken him.</p><p>Unfortunately, Morino Ibiki (the man she knows now she had always hated, though she hadn’t known it was <em>him </em>before, calling her father out every night) had seen it all.</p><p>Morino, the sick fuck, had calmly told her that he’d seen her break the law (apparently, what she <em>should </em>have done was call a military police force officer?). There had also been the <em>slightly </em>underage drinking. So, he posed, she could either get written up and risk jail-time—or he could negotiate a deal if she agreed to use her talents in a well-regulated setting.</p><p>And thus: just as her father had begun retreating from T&amp;I, allowing a new generation to take his place, Ino had been handed the ugly, grey uniform after all.</p><p>Months had passed since. She still didn’t know how to tell him; he came into their headquarters so rarely, it had been laughably easy avoiding him. Ino didn’t <em>want</em> him to see her here, not when he had been so happy thinking she had escaped.</p><p>Also: it was a <em>god </em>ugly uniform. The fewer people who saw her in it, the better.</p><p>Really, Ino was confident she could pull off almost anything, but the baggy, grey button down jacket paired with loose grey pants did nothing for her. Worse, she wasn’t allowed to wear earrings or any jewelry—apparently, those were too great a danger near high-risk prisoners determined to escape.</p><p>Ino felt <em>suffocated </em>here—unsexed, caged, leashed. If she dressed more flamboyantly these days than was practical on missions, it was because she felt it to be well-deserved compensation.</p><p>Ino knew she was pretty, and she <em>liked </em>flaunting it. She liked boys a lot, too (always had), and she liked when they looked at her like they hadn’t seen anything so beautiful before. There was something especially exciting when daimyos’ sons and courtiers knelt before <em>her</em>. For all the magnificent, unparalleled artwork around them, it was Ino they viewed as the exotic flower.</p><p>Yes, Ino liked being the most beautiful thing in the room. Which was why today had taken a turn for the worse the precise moment Hyuuga Neji had walked into their headquarters.</p><p>It was possibly a little known fact that Ino hated Neji. To be fair, there were very few circumstances where her animosity could come up. He was a jounin and she was still a chunin. They rarely encountered each other.</p><p>Just three years ago, Neji had merely been an uptight, cargo-shorts wearing prude. Sasuke had been the threat if at all, though his features were usually too contorted in annoyance for <em>that</em> to amount to much. He had been uptight as well, but the sexy kind of uptight; the kind that threatened to just say ‘fuck it’ and one day make him a rogue-nin. (Of course, it became very un-sexy when Sasuke went and did just that. And also when she had lost Sakura over him. They didn’t talk much these days. Ino regretted that more than she did losing Sasuke.)</p><p>But Neji <em>had </em>to be a surprise, didn’t he? In three years the older boy had gone on to make happy with Hinata, take a mild chill pill, and in thus doing, manage to fuck up everything for Ino.</p><p>Because in the last three years, Hyuuga Neji had (there was no other word for it) <em>blossomed. </em></p><p>Ino surveyed him now as they waited for Morino to let them into the interrogation room. She still couldn’t bring herself to deny it.</p><p>He was the stark opposite to her, skin pale where Ino was bronzed. His hair was a heavy curtain of midnight black-blue, unlike her blonde locks, though equally long. Where she was soft, gentle curves, he was prolonged, sloping lines and angles, an intricate composition of lean muscle and profound delicacy. If they stood side to side, she had no idea who would come out on top. She had no wish to find out.</p><p>To make matters worse, he looked otherworldly in his cream, kimono with billowing sleeves. His fashion sense, unfortunately, had also apparently improved with time.</p><p>She scowled to herself, wishing she could burn the grey clothes off her body right now.</p><p>The older boy’s glance rested on her expression with indifference. “Yamanaka. I had no idea you worked here.”</p><p>“Please, call me Ino,” she responded dully. “It’s a bit new. Just something I’m trying out.”</p><p>“And how did you find yourself here?” Neji asked with distant politeness.</p><p>Thankfully, the door in front of them opened. She had been about to barf.</p><p>“Great,” Morino grunted. “Glad you could make it here on such short notice, Hyuuga Neji.”</p><p>“It is a pleasure to meet you, Morino-san. I always make time for matters that concern my clan. I am honored to represent them today in this capacity,” Neji said, bowing. His hair looked silken as it slipped over his shoulder. Ino glared at it. What did he use? Freshly laid eggs? Milk? Honey from the heavens?</p><p>“Ino,” she heard belatedly. Morino was snapping his hand in front of her face.</p><p>She sniffed. “What, old man?”</p><p>He looked frustratingly unbothered, though Neji’s eyes narrowed disapprovingly. Still a prude.</p><p>“I’ve gotten all I can out of him. We need you to go one year back,” the man instructed. “The seventh day of the seventh month of that year.”</p><p>“Piece of cake,” Ino muttered.</p><p>The worst thing was it <em>was. </em>She was unprecedentedly good at this (Morino’s words, not her own).</p><p>She stalked into the room. The man was chained to a steel chair in the middle. He had clearly been roughed up, purple bruises and open wounds spotting every inch of skin that was visible.</p><p>He coughed, spitting up some blood onto the floor. “Ah,” he began to leer, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”</p><p>Ino giggled. “That’s so sweet of you to say.”</p><p>She could feel Neji’s gaze on her, disapproving.</p><p>Without a further word, Morino shut the door behind them, leaving her in charge. He knew she got results; he would review the video tape later if he needed.</p><p>This left her in the middle of the room with Neji at its corner. She didn’t exactly know why Neji was here, but apparently, somewhere, this man had made a powerful enemy in the Hyuuga.</p><p>“God, those tits,” he grunted, shifting to lean closer. “Wish I could see them. Must be things of beauty.”</p><p>Ino’s smile twitched slightly. She <em>hated </em>that word—‘tit.’</p><p>“They don’t fit very well in the uniform,” she pouted, leaning forward so that her hair just brushed the ends of his fingers. “The buttons are kind of…tight.”</p><p>The man gave a small, nasty grin. He knew she wasn’t the lascivious, airhead she was pretending to be; she knew he wasn’t as enslaved to his cock as <em>he </em>was pretending to be. They were playing a game, and both knew it.</p><p>The difference was that he thought he could play it better. But he was wrong. Ino knew <em>exactly </em>how to do this.</p><p>The enemy-nin’s gaze caught onto Neji exactly as she had guessed it would. “And who’s that?” he grinned, revealing bloody teeth. “Boy or a girl? Fucking pretty too, huh.”</p><p>“Boy,” Ino said easily, sitting primly on the steel table she was supposed to interrogate him from. She smiled back at him. “Doesn’t really matter to you, does it?”</p><p>“No,” the man returned with a jeer. “It doesn’t.”</p><p>The older boy was beginning to look slightly pinched.</p><p>Ino rolled her eyes, then began to fold her sleeves up slightly. The motion brought the man’s insincere attention back to her. “Going to hit me, darling?”</p><p>“Nope,” she said with a smile. “That isn’t really my style.”</p><p>“Oh?” he indulged with a mocking smile. “What is your style, then?”</p><p>“Gentle persuasion. Also, it’s Ino.”</p><p>“Hiro,” the man said with a flippant smirk. His gaze went calculatingly to the corner again. “His?”</p><p>Ino tilted her neck back, letting the light from the fluorescent lamp hanging above caress the column of her throat. She looked at Neji, letting her voice become throaty. “Neji. Speaking of which, why don’t you step forward? We’re feeling a bit lonely here.”</p><p>Two spots of red appeared on Neji’s face. Ino knew they were from fury. In the harsh light of the interrogation room, it only served to heighten his beauty, the stark pale against the pink-vermillion.</p><p>“My, my,” the man returned flawlessly; his voice was a convincing rasp. “You are a pretty thing aren’t you, Neji. I’d probably kill my own mother to get those lips around my cock.”</p><p>“Hm,” Ino hummed, drawing slightly closer to the prisoner. “I wonder if his cheeks would go red like that then, too.”</p><p>“Yamanaka,” Neji said tightly. “Stop.”</p><p>The man’s grin widened. Ino smirked behind the ‘offended’ hand at her mouth.</p><p>“Not used to this kind of thing, are you?” the man said lightly. His eyes were still calculating. Ino watched him with razor focus, though she pretended to play with her hair.</p><p>“He isn’t,” she agreed. “But he <em>is </em>very tempting, nevertheless. Or maybe because of it?”</p><p>“Because of it,” the man agreed with a dark, knowing smile.</p><p>Ah, he still thought he was ahead of Ino.</p><p>“What would you do to him, if you could?” she asked innocently, biting her lower lip.</p><p>He raised an eyebrow at her, looking lazy for a moment before he switched seamlessly back into his lecherous persona. “Where to start. He’s got a tight ass with slim hips like that. It’d be a true shame to loosen him.”</p><p>“You think?” Ino pondered. She slipped off the chair and walked toward Neji. He watched her approach with a tight frown.</p><p>“What would you do, Ino-chan?” the prisoner asked with fake interest.</p><p>“Me?” she echoed. With quick fingers, she reached up and broke the tie holding Neji’s hair together. His hair cascaded around him, thick, dark, and silken.</p><p>He gave an outraged hiss, but he was cornered by her body against the wall.</p><p>With a lone finger, she penetrated the space between two locks of hair, and then brushed just upward. The upper lock twisted sinuously through her fingers.</p><p>She turned to look at the prisoner. The man’s cool gaze flickered between the shocked anger on Neji’s face and the seductive twine of his hair around her fingers.</p><p>“I think you <em>should </em>loosen him, shinobi-san,” Ino said quietly. “I think his mouth would slip open, making another pretty, pink hole, just like that. I think he would struggle to keep his moans inside, but he wouldn’t be able to, with his mouth helplessly <em>gaping</em> like that.”</p><p>The man didn’t respond. He watched silently from the chair.</p><p>“<em>Yamanaka,</em>” Neji snarled under his breath. “I don’t care if I start a clan war, you are dead—”</p><p>She slipped her two fingers into his open mouth. He stopped abruptly, eyes flaring in incredulous rage. He looked almost too disbelieving of her gall to even move.</p><p>“I think you would wet your fingers just like this, and he would glare at you, furious, as he does now,” Ino whispered. She used her other hand to grab Neji’s hair and <em>yank</em>, just harshly enough. “And then you would pull his hair just like this, and he would <em>keen </em>for you—”</p><p>Neji’s palms were glowing when they hit her hard in her midsection, with such devastating force, that she skidded all the way across the room until she collided with the table at its center. The steel table was nailed to the ground and, still, the nails protested under the duress forced on them, making a high-pitched screeching noise.</p><p>Ino let herself lean against the table’s surface, elbows level with its surface and face contorted slightly with pain. Her hair had become unkempt too, she knew, slipping in tendrils from her own hair tie.</p><p>“I think he would play rough with you, shinobi-san,” Ino moaned. She pushed against the surface and slid behind the prisoner, dropping her head to relay her words just by his ear.</p><p>“Look at him,” she instructed in a murmur. “Isn’t he the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen? Those coveted, Hyuuga eyes glaring up at you as you would fill his mouth. As pale as he is, but his cheeks flushed with so much <em>vitriol</em>—”</p><p>And there, for the first time—for just an instant—instinctive, visceral lust flickered through the prisoner’s eyes.</p><p>Ino sneered openly now. “Got you.”</p><p>She made the hand signs and, in the brief instant of weakness birthed by his authentic lust, it was child’s play to break into his mind and take over.</p><p>In seconds, she had what she needed.</p><p>Hiro was mindless with anger in his chair, pulling furiously against his chains. Pain pulled at his features, because Ino had not been gentle.</p><p>“You fucking bitch,” he spat, saliva dripping from his mouth. “You fucking <em>cunt</em>—”</p><p>Ino glared. She hated that word too.</p><p>“After you, Neji-san,” Ino said lightly, holding open the door. He didn’t move as quickly as she would have liked, and so she went through anyway and let go of the door.</p><p>An instant later, she heard the door shut behind her. Another, and there was a body blocking her path.</p><p>“What just happened in there?” Neji asked, features cold.</p><p>Ino looked at him. “Lust tends to make minds vulnerable,” she explained monotonously, “especially for shinobi like him, who train to reject every other emotion but choose to indulge in sex; when they feel sexual hunger—one of the few emotions they allow—it feels all the more potent to them, leaves them all the more crippled, because their minds are otherwise so undisciplined in operating with emotion.”</p><p>“That may be the case,” Neji returned cuttingly, “but that does not explain why you chose to exploit me in that manner. You very well know that was not my intended purpose in the room, whatever your ulterior motives.”</p><p>“I have no idea why you were in the room with me. To ensure T&amp;I was doing its best with your sworn enemy? I don’t care,” Ino snapped back. “But I did <em>my</em> job in there. We have many, many prisoners here, Hyuga-san, and my duty is to break them as quickly as I can. You were there. I used you. I played the heavy-handed femme fatale; he knew to guard himself against me. But in my heavy-handedness, I also made you seem all the more appealing, all the more credible; it made him vulnerable to you, because all your reactions <em>were</em> authentic. You sped up the work <em>greatly</em>.”</p><p>His face was unreadable, now.</p><p>She drew back after a moment. “I am sorry,” she said bluntly. “That I made you feel uncomfortable with my words. And for sticking my fingers in your mouth. And for…pulling your hair. I would have asked for your permission ahead of time, if that wouldn’t have ruined the overall effect. I am willing to…compensate you for that, as long as what you decide it is reasonable. You can also write me up for unethical conduct; I won’t stop you.”</p><p>The older boy looked like a statue, now, for all that Ino could comprehend of his motives and thoughts from his face.</p><p>She sighed wearily. “Alright. If it needs to be the face, then it needs to be the face. But let me know, so I can clench my teeth ahead of time.”</p><p>When he moved toward in her a sudden burst of motion, she locked her teeth together and shut her eyes.</p><p>She opened them a second later when she felt hands on her abdomen. Without causing pain. If anything, the area was starting to feel better.</p><p>“Are you…” Ino felt very disturbed. “<em>Healing </em>me?”</p><p>“My cousin taught me the basics.”</p><p>“Why?” she asked, eyebrows climbing to the top of her forehead.</p><p>“I thought it would be useful.”</p><p>“No—why are you healing <em>me</em>?”</p><p>Neji looked at her, unblinking. “Because you thought you were doing your job. I didn’t, and I hurt you for it.”</p><p>“Of course I was—” Ino cut herself off, gaze narrowing. “What do you mean <em>thought</em>?”</p><p>“You <em>were</em> doing your job,” Neji allowed after a moment. “You were also unaware of what…I knew. I didn’t realize that.”</p><p>Ino was lost now. “What the hell are you talking about?”</p><p>The older boy looked down at her, silken hair still curtained around his pale, aristocratic features. “As you may know, the byakugan allows its user to see into the intricate mechanisms of the human body.”</p><p>“Yes, yes,” she waved off, “we all learned this in the academy.”</p><p>“We can sense heartbeats, sense lies,” Neji paused for a moment. “We can also learn, with time, to recognize…certain responses.”</p><p>Ino stilled. Her ears were filled with a rushing noise, like she had been caught out, before she even knew what the ludicrous charge was.</p><p>“Oh?” she demanded. “And what did you see?”</p><p>“Yamanaka-san,” Neji said after another brief pause. “You became wet.”</p><p>What.</p><p>“<em>What</em>.”</p><p>“Between your legs.” As if <em>that </em>was the part that needed clarification.</p><p>She went deaf for a moment—the sound of the air-conditioning whirring, the rustle of leaves in the breeze outside the window—<em>nothing</em>.</p><p>“The hell?!” she snarled. God, she was going to slam that pretty boy against the wall. “Do <em>you </em>fucking get off on lies? You think I like non-consensual <em>bad </em>touches? Or are you going to say it’s when you shoved me? News flash, that’s called acting. I didn’t like that any more than I did when—”</p><p>“It occurred,” the older boy interrupted calmly, “when you touched my hair.”</p><p>Well, she didn’t have a fucking hair fetish either. Ino broke off, calming down abruptly as reason returned to her brain. “Look, you’re beautiful. I won’t deny it. But actually, I <em>hate </em>you because of it. So there’s really no way I’d ever—”</p><p>She stopped when a hand, pale and slim, reached up and embedded itself in the roots of her hair. After a brief pause, he moved his hand parallel to the ground, pulling the strands gently with him so that they fanned out before falling again.</p><p>“Again,” he said calmly.</p><p>“No.” It had. This time, she had felt it. A hot, molten pulse between her thighs. God, Ino thought, could this day get any <em>worse</em>?</p><p>“Also, when I touched you to heal your abdomen,” he added.</p><p>“Fuck you,” she responded, equally determinedly.</p><p>He looked at her coolly for a long, examining moment. Then: “Possibly. Only after a considerable amount of consideration and some time.”</p><p>Ino gaped. Where the hell had the prudish, virginal Neji gone? Wasn’t <em>she </em>supposed to be the sex fiend? God, she had even considered fucking Shikamaru at one point during a dry spell (speaking of which, she could hardly live it down now). But this—no. This was the line. <em>There had to be a line</em>.</p><p>She couldn’t fuck someone prettier than her. An ego like Ino’s wouldn’t be able to take that kind of blow. <em>Never</em>.</p><p>“Never,” she vowed, staggering back. She must have looked terrified. Her eyelids hurt from her eyes being so wide.</p><p>“Hm,” Neji hummed. It wasn’t in agreement. If anything, he looked mildly arrogant now, like he had been posed with an intriguing challenge.</p><p>Fuck. </p><p>T&amp;I was intended to be Ino’s personal hell, wasn’t it?</p><p>She should have just done the easy thing and gone to jail.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Disclaimer: Images aren't mine! Found Ino one <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/70437474357379/">here</a>; found Neji <a href="https://ar.pinterest.com/pin/610237818233589137/">here</a>! </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Sazae-oni</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>a one-shot that no one asked for :o</p><p>Pairing: Hinata/Sasuke</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>some notes on characterization at the end!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hyuuga Hinata and Uchiha Sasuke marry on the last day of summer. It is the longest day of the year. Even the evening breeze is warm as the ceremony is conducted, and her kimono begins to feel uncomfortable, though she knows it to be beautiful. The persimmon tree rustles above them the entire ceremony. The sour-sweet smell of the ripe fruit diverts her attention intermittently.</p><p>The priest does not beckon them to embrace after they have completed <em>san-san-ku-do</em>, and Hinata is quietly relieved for it. If he had asked, she would have complied; and if she had complied, she does not know how the man beside her would have responded. Sake warms her throat and gives her the courage to imagine their audience’s shock if she had been subject to Amaterasu. Beside her, the groom gives no visible reaction to the priest’s unexpected conscientiousness. </p><p>They are told to turn as the rings are brought before them. It gives her a chance to measure the crowd that has amassed for them. Their wedding is a spectacle—possibly, because not one person in the village had ever predicted it.</p><p>Still, here they are. And astonishingly, Hinata finds within herself—not anger or sadness, though she has experienced these emotions frequently in her life, often directed inwards—but something like indifference. Here, she is. Here, they are. And here, they are wedded.</p><p>The cool band of metal on her finger feels meaningless, because this outcome is as good and as bad as any other she might have realistically achieved (what she <em>wanted</em>, of course, had always been but a pipe dream).</p><p>When the ceremony ends, they are all herded (politely) into a stretch of gardens. Lanterns hang from the knotted trees, lighting the way to tables with plates of food and jugs of sake. Hinata looks around and sees that, as promised, the council has spared no expense.</p><p>Friends and strangers greet them at their head table with mixed expressions. Some are better at hiding their shock beneath kind smiles. Others are not. Ino, in particular, stares at them for a long time without saying anything, brow furrowed, before Sakura drags her away. Thankfully, neither looks envious of her.</p><p>Apparently, indeed, that ship has long sailed for most women in the village, even the ones who had fought so earnestly over him in their academy days. What a strange time it is, she thinks as she sips from her cup, that Hinata is the only woman willing to marry the last Uchiha.</p><p>Perhaps, it is their lack of blushing and young couple joy that deters the attendees from staying long, even as the food is some of the best that Hinata has tasted in her life. Within the hour, men and women eat and drink as much as is polite before bowing their departure. The council members are among the last to leave.</p><p>In the end, only Naruto remains. He walks up to them, and he looks taller and older in traditional clothes. His hair looks freshly shorn, but there’s a tuft that sticks out beneath his ear. She wishes she could reach out her hand to brush it down.</p><p>“Your house in the Uchiha compound hasn’t been fully renovated yet, but the old lady at the inn says you can stay there for the next few nights, free of charge,” he says.</p><p>Sasuke grunts beside her. It is the only sound he has made the entire evening.</p><p>Naruto turns to look at her, and the lines on his face look more pronounced. He bows deeply. “I will never be able to thank you enough, Hinata. What you have done…I couldn’t ever repay.”</p><p>“Please don’t bow, Naruto-kun,” she says softly. “I did this for my clan and for the village.“</p><p>She sees him struggle, but the grip of guilt on a spirit like his has always been unnatural, and it slips away easily at her words. He allows her words to absolve him of any role in this.</p><p>As indifferent as she is to most of what is happening around her right now, Hinata is pleased at the restored levity on his face. She does not want him to be burdened. He has done so much, suffered so much, felt so much for all of them—why should he suffer now?</p><p>More fundamentally, he has done nothing wrong; he had only presented her, as he had done with every other clan woman of appropriate age within the village, with a choice.</p><p>Whatever goodwill Sasuke’s actions had garnered him during the war, it had only been enough to spare him his head. Naruto had fought tooth and nail for months for every ounce of freedom the man beside her has right now. It had taken tremendous effort and cajoling, she knows—the kind that does not come naturally to Naruto—to get the council to agree to let him stay. But the council’s conditions had not been kind ones. If Uchiha Sasuke was to stay, his chakra would be bound and he would marry a daughter of a clan, tying him and his progeny unquestionably to the village.</p><p>And so, smiling but begging, Naruto had posed a question to every eligible woman in the village. Hinata had known, by the time he had come to her, that every other had said no. Her father, a member of the council himself, had relayed this and the terms of the Uchiha’s stay to her as matter of course.</p><p>Hinata had known, before the question had even been asked, what her answer would be.</p><p>She had had very little say in the matter of loving Naruto. It had been a one-sided affair entirely. And when confronted with the question of what could make Naruto happier—enabling his best friend, the one he had searched for years, to remain by his side, or the questionable happiness she could bring to him on the questionable chance she ever managed to stand by his—her decision had been fairly straightforward.</p><p>Hinata’s love had never needed to be fed or watered or catered to. It had grown in silence, unnoticed, for most of her life. It has only ever required one thing from her: his happiness.</p><p>“You shouldn’t stay up too late, moron,” Sasuke says beside her, disrupting the long silence that has lapsed between them. His voice is rough from disuse.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, I know I have to shadow Kakashi-sensei tomorrow,” Naruto grumbles. He scratches at his hair. “It’s so weird that he’s kage now.”</p><p>“You should be thankful. He’ll condition the world for your impending unprofessionalism.”</p><p>“Hey!” Naruto barks, face reddening. But his performed anger doesn’t last long.</p><p>It subsides and a new expression shifts his features as he clasps Sasuke’s arm. He looks both grateful and wondrous, as though he hadn’t really expected the man in front of him to show up at his own wedding.</p><p>Hinata had been too preoccupied to consider otherwise. It occurs to her, now, that she knows exactly why she has agreed to this marriage, but has very little idea why the man beside her has.</p><p>They watch Naruto go in silence. As Naruto’s shoulders narrow in their view, Hinata reflects on the little she knows of Sasuke. From what she has heard, he has spent his most of his time outside Konoha traversing forests and other rough terrain in pursuit of various vendettas. This fact does not render him especially likely to settle down. Perhaps, he will leave again once he is allowed.</p><p>Beyond this, all Hinata can rely on is a vague impression of a dark-haired boy at the academy who had seemed sullen and immovable.</p><p>She musters something like bravery to turn her head to look at him. He is tall—much taller than her and taller even than Naruto—and it requires more effort on her part than she had thought to raise her head with all the elaborate, heavy decoration pinned into it.</p><p>His coloring is not entirely dissimilar to hers, she also notes. Their eyes, of course, are their most distinguishing feature. Hers, the characteristic pale of the Hyuuga, and his—</p><p>Her mouth parts.</p><p>His are focused solely on the bright-haired figure slowly becoming enclosed in the shadows of bushes and willow trees.</p><p>And at this sight revealed before her, Hinata <em>knows</em>.</p><p>It’s the fragility there, a painful tenderness in the weight of his gaze, that she has never seen before. It’s a softness on his face that compromises even the harshest of his features. It’s this: that he is utterly unaware of her observation, because he is so consumed by the man leaving them.</p><p>Unthinkingly, she reaches her hand out to clasp his elbow, because she realizes now, that this is a day of mourning for the both of them.</p><p>He turns sharply toward her at the touch. She expects anger, the kind he had often weaponized in his younger days. But he does not bully her or beat her or bellow at her. He merely looks at her, expression abruptly blank.</p><p>She feels something like incredulity, because there’s only one other person in this village who does not know about Hinata’s feelings, and that is the man in question. Her mouth trembles for a moment as she struggles to shape words.</p><p>Then, it occurs to her—what is there to fear? Everything she feels, he knows.</p><p>(And this, perhaps, may be the one thing that will give them both peace.)</p><p>“He is easy to love,” she says softly, almost soundlessly. She watches his features mutate before her eyes, torn between emotions too quick for her to decipher.</p><p>Just when she believes he will give no response at all, he nods, and the motion is so quick, so slight, that she almost misses it.</p><p>In this moment, Hinata understands that the man in front of her <em>is</em> different from the boy she had known. Because she does not think that boy would have been brave enough to admit it. There is no anger in the Sasuke before her now at her discovery—only, perhaps, a slight change in regard toward her knowing that she is the same. </p><p>Together, they make their way to the inn.</p><hr/><p>The owner of the inn leads them to a moderately lavish room that they have been told is her best honeymoon suite and popular among all the couples. Because she is tired, Hinata begins unraveling her kimono and hair as soon as the old woman leaves.</p><p>“I will take the couch.”</p><p>Hinata pauses, holding the layer above her juban loosely in her hands. “You need not inconvenience yourself, Sasuke-san. The bed is large enough to share.”</p><p>She turns to look at him. He pauses before he speaks.</p><p>“I do not want to give you the wrong impression,” he says carefully, dark eyes unreadable. “I am not…indifferent to women.”</p><p>Hinata’s eyes widen at the confession. She recovers quickly. “I would never assume. Still, I doubt you feel any particular d-draw towards me.”</p><p>He nods bluntly.</p><p>“And you don’t have anything to fear from me either,” she finishes. “Y-you need not act out of unnecessary consideration for me.”</p><p>Having wiped the makeup off her face with a damp towel, she makes her way to bed and settles beneath the covers. Her body throbs in satisfaction at the sensation of soft cushion beneath her.</p><p>“Very well,” he says finally.</p><p>She hears him flick the lights off. A moment later, his body settles beside hers. They are stiff at first, despite their words. Eventually, they both relax.</p><p>At some point, in this room, on this night that they have both essentially forsaken the man they love, they fall asleep.</p><hr/><p>Hinata settles into marriage with what she senses is unusual ease. That being said, with Sasuke’s post-war temperament—reticent and contemplative—and her own characteristic reserve, she imagines it would be easier to get two rocks to spark fire in the middle of a thunderstorm than for them to fight.</p><p>The very idea seems ludicrous.</p><p>The house within the Uchiha compound is ready for them three days after the ceremony. They find it modestly furnished. There is a particularly nice couch in the main living area. Their dining table is small and quaint. There is one bed.</p><p>Rather than making the effort to have another built and delivered, they decide—because this is how little they care—to share it.</p><p>Life goes on.</p><p>Hinata wakes each day before the sun and before Sasuke rises. She’s used to waking up relatively early, having been a medic-nin for some years now—but even she finds the hours of her new position trying.</p><p>The necessity of those lengthy hours, unfortunately, is the magnum opus of Tsunade’s rants. For years, other shinobi villages and various terrorist organizations have invested time and effort to prepare for what is essentially an impending biological arms race, while Konoha has, for the longest time, itself failed to do the same. Tsunade’s return to Konoha had thankfully fostered a new age of scientific and medical development, drawing Hinata and others to consider the hospital, rather than a career on the battlefield. But, even years of work later, they are still very much largely playing catch-up.</p><p>Hinata’s work now as the head of the department of biological warfare and poisons is undeniably challenging, but the work is fruitful, and she finds it far more fulfilling than anything she hears from her former teammates. Unlike other sectors of research, moreover, her department has laid enough groundwork to actually begin (even by other villages’ standards) innovating.</p><p>Accordingly, therefore, the hours are atrocious.</p><p>The first few mornings, she makes breakfast for herself. One time, sleepy and bleary-eyed, she accidentally doubles the amounts. Without much thought, she wraps the extras for Sasuke.</p><p>She finds the bowl washed and drying on the dish rack when she comes back from the hospital. After that, she makes breakfast for the both of them. Neither of them addresses it.</p><p>A week later, however, he begins to make dinner for her.</p><p>On rare occasions, when she is able to leave the hospital early, they sit at the small, quaint table and eat in silence together. Most of the time, she returns so late that he’s already in bed, and the plate waits for her on the table. Hinata has never been much of a cook herself, but Sasuke—she is surprised to find—is exceptional. She ponders, sometimes, when he would have had the time to cultivate the talent.</p><p>On weekends, he trains outside while she reviews medical literature on the couch. On those days, they make their own meals and eat in different parts of the house.</p><p>Hinata isn’t happy, but she is content. She has always appreciated quiet, and her home is never anything but. When she requires company, she make plans to meet with friends. She and Sasuke do not discuss Naruto, but there is a silent camaraderie between them, perhaps, in their shared condition. It is an ailment they both must learn to live with.</p><hr/><p>The season changes, and the leaves begin to fall, then snow. At first, statements of facts compose their exchanges: they need to do groceries, they need to buy more soap. Eventually, they manage more.</p><p>When spring comes around again, the first days are unexpectedly hot. On the third night, Sasuke shrugs off his shirt before he lays down beside her. He falls asleep while she is still reading.</p><p>The novel in her hands is a bit of indulgence, and it is better than she has anticipated. Part of her is horrified at her own behavior, knowing she has work tomorrow. Still, she has a hard time setting it down.</p><p>Her attention is diverted only when the bed begins to vibrate slightly beneath her. Her gaze darts left. She notices the amputated arm beside her is trembling, though the rest of Sasuke’s body is utterly still.</p><p>Phantom pain, she identifies instantly. Probably not the first time, only the first time she has noticed.</p><p>She debates the best course of action. Sasuke has proven himself to be an extremely private person. As a cohabitant and not his doctor, given that his life and health are not at risk…</p><p>Ultimately, Hinata wakes him.</p><p>He surges up and immediately twists in defense, amputated limb angled away from her sight. It takes him a few seconds to recognize her.</p><p>“How long have you been experiencing pain near the amputation, Sasuke-san?”</p><p>He blinks at her. Some of his stoicism returns. “It isn’t a problem.”</p><p>Hinata considers him. “There are alternatives,” she says softly. “Naruto used the first kage’s cells. Why not take advantage of a prosthetic as well?”</p><p>Sasuke stares at her for a long time. “A prosthetic would defeat the purpose,” he says finally.</p><p>Her eyebrows lift in question.</p><p>“This serves to ensure I will never forget,” he says lowly, looking down at where the limb is cut off, “what this hand might have done.”</p><p>They have not, until now, ever mentioned the war; it had been a silently understood rule between the two of them, or so Hinata had thought. The sudden invocation leaves her feeling shaken.</p><p>“I find it hard to believe that Naruto would want you to feel punished,” she says quietly.</p><p>“Naruto can forgive any injustice done to him. You, of all people, should understand why I must be held accountable.”</p><p>She wonders if her younger self could have ever believed that cold, aloof boy would one day become this.</p><p>Hinata raises her gaze to him. “My love isn’t the kind that fosters hate,” she says. “If you want to a-atone, you would do so much more good ensuring no one loses their way like you did ever again, rather than through your pain. I would think.”</p><p>Sasuke’s expression doesn’t change. “Do you?” he asks slowly. The words are not angry or unkind, but they are cold.</p><p>Her face reddens slightly. She tips her head. “This is only my opinion,” she acknowledges. “For whatever that is worth.”</p><p>Sasuke’s face is averted from hers. Eventually, he informs her, “You have three hours until you must wake up.”</p><p>Hinata’s eyes widen in alarm. She understands these words, of course, as the dismissal they are. She realizes that she has probably overstepped.</p><p>She places her book on the side table and shifts onto her side.</p><hr/><p>In the middle of summer, almost one year after their marriage ceremony, Naruto shows up to Ichiraku Ramen with a girl at his side.</p><p>The rest of rookie nine jeer as they enter. Most of them have also brought a partner—some even two—to their weekly dinners, but this is the first time Naruto has. She’s a petite girl called Hana, and she beams brightly at all of them. Her laugh is delicate like the ring of chimes.</p><p>Hinata comes straight from work. She wears her white robes that still smell like isopropanol, and hair is knotted in a messy bun at the back of her head. Sweat dots her back because she ran to make it to this dinner on time.</p><p>She shifts into one of the empty chairs at the end of the table and tries her best to smile. She is half-aware of the wooden chair next to her screeching as a figure settles into it.</p><p>Hinata turns, still smiling brightly. She allows it to dissipate when she sees Sasuke’s face. Instantly, she shifts her body so that she may hide her expression—and his—from the others. They turn toward each other, as though they are talking, and the others do not bother them. </p><p>(They do not usually sit by each other at these dinners. The closest they’ve come is sitting on either side of Naruto. It does not seem like that position will be particularly palatable going forward, with Hana on the other side.)</p><p>They unanimously decide to leave this dinner early. They walk back to the complex, side by side, and she is… She is unhappier today than she has been most other days this year, but she does not feel that she is alone.</p><hr/><p>Some part of Hinata, of course, understands that there are people in the village who feel less than positively about Sasuke’s presence in the village. It simply becomes, in the whirlwind of work and the bubble of their friends and the simplistic nature of their days, easy to forget.</p><p>A year and a half after they are married, she returns early from the hospital one night and enters the house to the smell of burnt rice, though the rice still boils on the stove.</p><p>She knows instantly that something is wrong.</p><p>She is lucky, she realizes with rush of relief, that her chakra was still suppressed when she had entered the house. She had dampened it for an experiment earlier and forgotten to reverse the effects.</p><p>The house is utterly silent. She activates her byakugan and locates two bodies on the second floor. From experience, Hinata knows to avoid that spots that make the wood creak. She keeps her body tight to the wall as she climbs the back staircase and angles her eyes just over the corner.</p><p>There’s an ANBU in their hallway, dressed head to toe in black. His porcelain mask covers most of his features. His hands are locked tightly around a katana’s handle, the end of which is buried firmly in Sasuke abdomen.</p><p>Hinata abandons the wall. He spins at the sound of her approach, and the katana leaves Sasuke’s body with a sickening hiss. Blood gushes from the open wound.</p><p>She realizes, at this sight, that she does not have the time to ‘warm up.’</p><p>Hinata starts at her limit, though she had barely mastered the one hundred twenty-eight palms before deciding to become a medic-nin. She doesn’t expect the ANBU to be weak. He is not. He weaves between her fists with reasonable ease, and he does not leave.</p><p>He wants to see Sasuke die.</p><p>The cloying taste of blood fills her mouth. She has bitten her tongue. One hundred twenty-eight is her limit. It is everyone’s limit. She has never seen anything higher. Neji is their clan’s genius, and if he has not discovered this, then it must be impossible.</p><p>If this is not good enough, then what can she do? Unlike Neji, she knows no alternatives.</p><p>Also, however, she cannot allow Sasuke to die. This is also true. This, perhaps above all else, is incontrovertible.</p><p>Because—how could she ever look in Naruto’s face, if she allowed this to happen?</p><p>The uncertainty flees, then, when she realizes there simply is no other possibility. She will liken it later to what she has only ever felt in the hospital and in the lab—a calm recognition of an objective and an unflinching determination to meet it.</p><p>Her muscles burn, her lungs ache, her veins pulse with strain—it doesn’t help that she is woefully out of shape because she hasn’t done anything like this in years—and her palms speed up, each increment an uphill battle.</p><p>She does not know how it happens. All precedent indicates that this should have been impossible for her to accomplish.</p><p>In thirty seconds, with blood in her mouth, desperate, she does it. Her palms are twice as fast as they once were.</p><p>There is no one to celebrate the feat. Without ceremony, she adds medical chakra to her fingers—the slicing kind, not the healing kind—and she cuts his ligaments. He crumples to the ground like a broken puppet.</p><p>She rushes to the last Uchiha, palm landing roughly on the center of his chest. He coughs as she heals him. When his life is out of immediate danger she steps back away from him.</p><p>She is pale with anger.</p><p>“You did not scream,” she accuses. “You didn’t make any noise.”</p><p>His head rolls back against the wall. “I did not believe there was anyone to hear me,” he says, voice weak.</p><p>“D-don’t lie,” she stammers back. The old habit returns as her anger grows. “You were silent because you w-would have let him do it.”</p><p>Even chakra-bound, Sasuke is not helpless.</p><p>He stares at her, face lined with pain. She has learned, as the seasons have changed, that his silence almost always signifies agreement.</p><p>The air rushes out of her lungs. “How could you?” she beseeches. She’s on her knees on the ground, in front of him. “Don’t you know what it would do to him? When you were a traitor, every ten of his smiles became one. If you die, don’t you realize that they would vanish entirely?”</p><p>“Naruto would move on,” he tells her, in a voice that brooks no argument. “This, however, has very little to do with him. <em>This</em> is the natural consequence of my actions. I will not shy away from it.”</p><p>Tears stream down Hinata’s face. She is hard-pressed to identify their cause. She has faced failure and confronted death time and time again in the hospital; she no longer cries. But Sasuke sits here, in front of her, and he is alive. Once she escorts him to the hospital, he will even be well.</p><p>Perhaps, the tears stem from some mistranslation of her anger.</p><p>“We should go to the hospital,” she mutters. She bends to shift him onto her back. As he settles there, her hands tighten without thought around his sodden yukata.</p><p>Her throat burns as she stands.</p><p>“If you leave,” she says, and it is the most selfish thing she has ever said in her life, “then I will be alone.”</p><p>He says nothing to these words. He watches her, instead, eyes unfathomable.</p><p>She carries him to the hospital, and they are both silent.</p><hr/><p>Something changes after the assassination attempt. In retrospect, Hinata begins to consider herself foolish for expecting things to have remained the same.</p><p>At the next council meeting, Naruto argues staunchly for Sasuke’s chakra to be restored to him. He is successful. They listen to him more seriously now, Hinata understands, because it is clear that he is likely to be kage next—and there are rumors that Kakashi will step down within the next year.</p><p>Other things change too.</p><p>“We have more eggplant than I noted down on the list,” Hinata observes absentmindedly as she organizes their fridge a month later.</p><p>Sasuke pauses in perusing the scroll in his hands. He has taken to studying in order to reacclimate his body to the sudden resurgence of chakra.</p><p>“Yes,” he says after pause. “I’ve noticed that you eat more when I prepare eggplant.”</p><p>Hinata blinks at these words. “Oh,” she affirms belatedly. “Yes.” It is her favorite.</p><p>He returns his attention to the scroll.</p><hr/><p>That weekend, she plants herself in the kitchen and stares hard at a recipe book that had been one of their wedding gifts. Cuts decorate her fingers—fingers that have handled surgeries without flaw—by the time Sasuke returns to the house, but there is a complete dish in front of her, and she hands it to him once he has washed up.</p><p>“What is this?”</p><p>“It’s rice with chicken and tomato nimono stew,” she says. “I’ve noticed you like tomatoes a lot, and I…wanted to return the favor.”</p><p>They sit at the table together to eat. As Hinata ties her hair back from her face, Sasuke begins eating.</p><p>“How is it?” she asks.</p><p>“You forgot the salt.”</p><p>Her face reddens. She tastes it and confirms, yes, that she has forgotten to add salt. She stands immediately to take the plate from him. He slides the dish away from her questing hands.</p><p>“Don’t force yourself,” she insists. “We can order food tonight.”</p><p>“I am not wasteful,” he snaps, when she does not relent. Bemused, she returns to her seat. She tries to swallow down more.</p><p>Eventually, Hinata goes to the phone to order food; her tongue has been spoiled by Sasuke’s cooking, and she can’t quite manage the blandness.</p><p>Sasuke, using some iron will foreign to her, finishes the plate.</p><hr/><p>On the two-year mark of their marriage, Naruto breaks up with Hana. He sobs his way through the entire dinner at Ichiraku’s, and they empty the small establishment of its alcohol supplies trying to keep up with him.</p><p>“Kotoshi saisho no yuki no HANA o,” Naruto wails drunkenly as they stagger out, “Futari yorisotte…”</p><p>“Will he be okay on his own?” Ino grumbles as she leans on Sakura. The pink-haired girl blinks rapidly and doesn’t seem to be able to comprehend these words.</p><p>“Sasuke-san will escort him back,” Hinata assuages, nodding toward where Sasuke now supports the jinchuruki.</p><p>Dark eyes narrow at her.</p><p>Ino bows deeply and staggers off with Sakura. The other leave shortly after, nodding and smiling happily. Sasuke does not move and Naruto, as a result, doesn’t either.</p><p>“I didn’t mean to assume,” Hinata says, as she recalls her quick words. “I apologize, Sasuke-san. But, that is, would you mind helping Naruto-kun back? He is very drunk.”</p><p>Sasuke watches her with an unreadable expression. “You’re drunk too,” he says finally.</p><p>Hinata’s eyes widen. She is. She had forgotten that, somehow. “I’ll be fine,” she argues politely. “I drank much less than he did. And I’m a medic-nin besides—at any sign of danger, I can burn the alcohol from my bloodstream. Naruto cannot.”</p><p>She sees Sasuke evaluate this argument. After a moment, he swings Naruto onto his back—but with infinite care, she can see; he is gentle every place his hands touch—and then walks in the opposite direction.</p><p>Hinata turns, eventually, toward the compound. As she passes through the village, her surroundings are illuminated by the full moon above. She feels a sudden, overwhelming tenderness towards every rooftop, ever alley—every shadow, every corner. Here, she imagines, must be where she stubbed her toe once or twice, surely. There, she reasons, must be where Hanabi bought her first dango. Where else?</p><p>She loves this village, she feels with sudden urgency. She loves it more than words can describe. The sentiment is so full and tremendous, that she pauses where she is. She has no idea how long.</p><p>A brush of air against the tendrils of hair beneath her neck makes her turn instantly. In the same motion, she burns all the alcohol from her body and brings her fists up defensively.</p><p>They drop when her eyes land on Sasuke. His gaze rests on her clenched fists. She loosens them belatedly.</p><p>“Did Naruto get back home safely?”</p><p>“I dropped him off at the intersection. He should be fine,” he answers.</p><p>Hinata isn’t sure how to respond.</p><p>“I wasn’t aware medic-nin could actually burn alcohol from their bodies,” Sasuke acknowledges off-handedly, voice distant.</p><p>She blinks in response. “Tsunade-sama invented it. I think.”</p><p>Something else occurs to her. “I saved you from that ANBU, if you remember,” she says, voice soft, “I am not weak.”</p><p>“I am well aware,” he says quietly in response.</p><p>Neither of them seems to have any anything else to say after that. They go home.</p><hr/><p>One week later, Sasuke brings back a loaf of bread. An unexpected piece of papers floats off their kitchen island when they unwrap the loaf.</p><p>It’s a coupon for a free couple’s weekend retreat at a locally famous hill-top onsen. They both stare at it.</p><p>“It’s free,” she says.</p><p>He stares for a bit longer. “It would be uneconomic not to go,” Sasuke says slowly.</p><p>They end up going.</p><p>An elderly couple greets them as soon as they pass through the wooden gate at the top of the hill. They are given a brief history of the onsen—apparently, it’s been passed down a jaw-dropping ten generations (Hinata privately doubts this considering Konoha is well known to have been disputed territory before the village was established)—and then they are swiftly ushered inside.</p><p>“We adore young couples,” the elderly man, Sato, confides in them.</p><p>“Adore them,” his wife, Asami, agrees.</p><p>Sato grunts. “You two, you seem like you’ve got good heads on your shoulders.”</p><p>“We’ve seen too many of the young ones go astray,” Asami nods sadly.</p><p>Her husband nods sagely. “You seem well-matched in temperament.”</p><p>“Don’t let anyone tell you need to search for your opposite or some nonsense like that,” Asami says with similar judiciousness.  “Marriage isn’t about how well you fight, it’s about how well you stick with each other.”</p><p>Hinata’s face steadily reddens the longer they are subject to the elderly couple’s attention.</p><p>“She’s feeling unwell,” Sasuke says shortly, pointing at her face. “Our rooms?”</p><p>Asami’s eyes widen. “Oh, my dear, you <em>are</em> looking rather flushed. Just around here.”</p><p>They both relax when a door is shut firmly between them and the onsen’s owners. A few seconds pass before they finally hear footsteps leaving.</p><p>Hinata shifts her bag from her back and rummages until she finds one of the few non-work-related texts she has brought. She leans against the bed and begins perusing it.</p><p>(She doesn’t think she wants to leave the room again.)</p><p>“Do you happen to have another?” Sasuke asks stiffly.</p><p>“Ah…yes,” Hinata returns, a little shocked. When he doesn’t take his words back, as she half-expects, she bends down to her bag and hands him another book.</p><p>Eventually, they run out of leisure reading and move onto medical texts. To her further surprise, Sasuke reads these as well with equal interest.</p><p>“Are you interested in medical studies, Sasuke-san?” she asks, smiling unconsciously.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Oh,” she says, smile weakening.</p><p>“But I do wonder what…medic-nins do all day.” His face is studiously blank.</p><p>Hinata nods easily.</p><p>Neither of them ends up trying out the onsen.</p><hr/><p>A half a year passes without any notable events. Or at least, this is how Hinata perceives those months as they occur.</p><p>The book-sharing doesn’t stop after the onsen trip. On the contrary, they begin to accumulate a small collection in their home between the two of them and from a variety of genres: mystery, thriller, poetry, romance.</p><p>Their third anniversary passes by unnoticed, like the others, except for the ANBU who delivers a large gift basket of fruit, courtesy of the council. Hinata doesn’t feel particularly inclined to stop Sasuke when he leaves it outside for the strays to devour.</p><p>A few days later, they receive an invite to Ino and Sai’s housewarming party.</p><p>“Oh,” Hinata says out loud as she reads it, “I didn’t realize…”</p><p>“They’ve been fucking since January.” Sasuke doesn’t bother looking up from the newspaper.</p><p>At one point, she might have flushed at a remark like that.</p><p>“Oh,” she repeats instead, now long-used to his acerbity. She isn’t particularly close to either of them, but Naruto will be there.</p><p>When the sun sets, they make their way across the village. Ino opens the door with too much force, cheeks flushed with inebriation.</p><p>“Hinata!” she whoops. She collapses in Hinata’s arms, giggling. Hinata stares down at her, bemused. The blonde blows the hair out of her face and squints up at Sasuke. “Ugh, you’re still fucking hot. <em>Why</em>.”</p><p>“Let me get you some water!” Hinata says hastily, hoping to spare her from any other comments she might regret the next day. She herds Ino to the kitchen—thankfully, she could see it from the entry way—and gives her a cup she fills from the sink.</p><p>“Is this vodka or gin?” Ino asks, nose twitching suspiciously.</p><p>Hinata hesitates. “Vodka,” she lies. She’s seen a glass of water flipped more than once by a patient with alcohol poisoning. Ino doesn’t seem that far gone though, thankfully.  </p><p>The other girl’s frown settles into a puzzled grin. She gulps it down. “Huh,” she says after, smacking her tongue, “tastes different.”</p><p>“Ino,” she hears someone sigh behind her. Hinata turns. It’s Sai.</p><p>He looks like he’s been searching for Ino because he goes to her immediately, features relaxing. She thankfully hands Ino over.</p><p>As the two leave her in the kitchen, Hinata doesn’t find herself much enthused with her surroundings. The combined body heat of too many people crammed into one place makes her long for fresh air. She smiles a bit pityingly at herself. It’s only been two minutes.</p><p>She fills a cup of water for herself and climbs the first staircase she finds. On the second level, she sees a set of wooden doors already parted, leading out onto a balcony. Hinata goes unhesitatingly.</p><p>She isn’t shocked to find another person already on the balcony. She is, however, shocked to find Naruto.</p><p>The blonde looks equally shocked to see her too.</p><p>“Hinata!” he says, beaming. “Good to see you!”</p><p>Hinata frowns. Normally, she would be too shy to say anything, too uncertain of <em>what </em>to say. She’s not sure what emboldens her now. “Is something wrong?”</p><p>His smile wavers. He seems to keep it there with sheer force of will power. “Wrong?” He scratches at his head. “Nah, nothing’s wrong. I’m going to be hokage, actually! It’s official now! And—”</p><p>He stops. He seems to tell that it isn’t working.</p><p>“Is it…that obvious?” he asks, voice lowered.</p><p>Hinata does feel nervous now. “N-no,” she swallows, “it’s just that. You’re always there when someone needs you, Naruto-kun. But you should rely on us too. Your friends.”</p><p>She nods to herself after. That had not been put together too atrociously.</p><p>And Naruto doesn’t look put off. Actually, he’s staring at her with more attentiveness than he ever has before, possibly.</p><p>“Yeah?” he says, voice soft. He clears his throat. “It’s stupid, really. Definitely not worth talking about.”</p><p>He peeks at her through the corner of his eyes, as though to see if she’s still paying attention. Obviously, she is.</p><p>“I, uh, promised myself that I would have all these great things when I grew up,” he says, voice a little rough. “A great team, the respect of the village, the hokage title. And I have that all now, or almost, but I…but I realized I forgot something important somewhere along the way.”</p><p>He looks at her, and he looks embarrassed. Hinata shifts closer unthinkingly.</p><p>“It just popped in my mind, when I saw Ino and Sai like that. A family. I, uh, still don’t have—that.”</p><p>He turns his head forward and blinks furiously. His ears are red.</p><p>Hinata wants to hug him. She doesn’t muster the courage to go that far, but she places a friendly hand on his arm. It comes easily to her only because she’s done it so often with upset patients.</p><p>Blue eyes turn to her.</p><p>“You do have a family,” she insists. “Iruka-sensei, Kakashi-san, Sasuke-san, Sakura-san, and everyone who’s here at this housewarming party. I know it’s not the same, but it’s not nothing.”</p><p>His mouth trembles.</p><p>“And one day,” Hinata declares, “you will have what Ino and Sai have too.”</p><p>Naruto laughs uncomfortably. “I’m not sure about that. I don’t think anyone’s ever… People don’t see me like that.”</p><p>That—<em>that</em>—strikes Hinata momentarily dumb. Something like anger, though it isn’t directed at anyone particular source (or is it at herself?), warms her chest. How couldn’t he know? Why hasn’t she shown him that he was…treasured? How has she messed up so much?</p><p>(Ah, the anger <em>is</em> it at herself.)</p><p>“I’m sure,” she says shortly. She’s vaguely aware that her voice is a little too loud.</p><p>He seems closer to her than before. “Why?” he asked, the word a mere breath of air.</p><p>“Because you’re—”</p><p>He kisses her.</p><p>She tastes soju. And lime. And salt. And his lips. He moves his lips against hers in the same way he talks: passionately, without orchestration. Hinata’s eyes hurt because they’re so wide, and just as she’s about to—</p><p>“You sat front row at the wedding, if I’m not mistaken,” a voice breaks the silence coolly from behind them.</p><p>Hinata shoves Naruto away on reflex. He smacks hard against the balcony railing, jaw comically slack.</p><p>“Are you moronic enough to forget, Naruto?” Sasuke drawls.</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>,” Naruto chokes out, rubbing at his face. “I drank too much.” He raises his head after a moment, however, calmer. “What the fuck, teme. You trying to mess with me?”</p><p>“Mess with you?” the Uchiha asks evenly.</p><p>Hinata can see the vicious restraint on his face. Her stomach turns with nausea.</p><p>“Everyone knows you’re not a real couple! God, you bastard, you almost gave me a heart attack—”</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” she tells Sasuke.</p><p>He slowly turns to look at her. “We’re leaving,” he says coldly.</p><p>She follows him without question, even as Naruto shouts after them. She follows him down the stairs and through the streets of Konoha until they’re at the complex, and there’s no one else around them for miles, because all the other Uchiha are dead.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Hinata says again like a broken record. It’s all she has said the entire way.</p><p>Only now, he responds. “Sorry?” he tests the word, gaze shuttered. “What can you possibly be sorry for.”</p><p>“That you saw, and that he didn’t mean it, and that that only makes it worse, doesn’t it? Not only for me, but for you…too. Because it wasn’t even <em>worth </em>it.”</p><p>She knows.</p><p>She knows what it feels like, The pain in your throat like you can’t swallow, like you can’t breathe—when still, it happens. How much it has always hurt to <em>watch. </em></p><p>Sasuke laughs suddenly, and the noise is loud in the deathly silence all around them. Hinata’s mouth trembles.</p><p>“And what is it exactly?” he asks. “That you think you’ve made me feel?”</p><p>The word burns her throat on its way out. She whispers it, because it’s a confession on her part too. “Jealous.”</p><p>He peers down at her, nostrils flared.</p><p>“Without a doubt,” he says coldly. His eyes burn at her. “The moment I saw the two of you, I wanted to strangle the life out of you. I wanted to behead you and mount your head on a pike on the street.”</p><p>Hinata’s face pales, but not in shock or terror. It’s because, in his words, she hears the darkest of her own thoughts voiced aloud. And it is as ugly as she has always imagined.</p><p>He isn’t finished.</p><p>“And also,” he says in a hiss, “when I saw the two of you, I started to wish that I had that hand again—that one that I’ve lived without for three years now. Ask me why.”</p><p>“Why?” she asks obediently, apologetically.</p><p>“I wanted it so that I could force chidori through his chest again and, this time, make sure I got the job done.”</p><p>Hinata staggers a step back.</p><p>“Does that shock you?” Sasuke asks, cheeks flushed. “It might shock you more to know this—that, somehow, in that moment, I think I wanted to kill him more than I wanted to kill you.”</p><p>“<em>Sasuke</em>,” she says hoarsely, face hard. The anger comes first, at the threat to Naruto, at the unexpected pivot this conversation has taken that makes her suspect she is being played.</p><p>“I spent years on teams with other women and other men, and none of them moved me from him. You were nothing to me in the beginning too,” he breathes harshly.</p><p>Hinata’s anger falters. She begins to entertain the implausible. That he isn’t pretending. That he is as serious in his regard to her as he has ever been.</p><p>“Sasuke—”</p><p>“And now I am like this,” he says, with violence, like it hurts him to confess the words. He reads her face. “Don’t ask <em>me</em> how, <em><span class="u">s</span>azae-oni</em>.”</p><p>Her shoulders tremble.</p><p>“I don’t,” she says shakily. “If you mean that. I don’t feel the same. I…I’m sorry.”</p><p>He smiles humorlessly at these words. “Don’t apologize. Did you think I didn’t know?”</p><p>He leaves without another word to enter the house. After ten minutes, Hinata follows him. She sleeps on the couch that night, because she thinks it’s best.</p><p>The next day, because she thinks it’s best, she also orders another bed.</p><hr/><p>It takes time.</p><p>But it happens. Life return to normalcy.</p><p>Naruto is awkward the first few Ichiraku dinners. But, over the next few, he seems to forget more and more that there was any cause to feel discomfort in the first place. As she had suspected, it had meant very little to him. She had simply been...there.</p><p>Books continue to accumulate in the house. The small, quaint table is eventually exchanged for something a little larger and more durable. She paints a room blue.</p><p>As for she and Sasuke—they return to normalcy too, given a certain definition of normalcy. Of course, things are never again as they were.</p><hr/><p>Naruto gets married five years after Hinata and Sasuke do. It happens in the middle of winter, when the snow is thick on the ground and icicles reflect light along the branches of the trees. It’s an indoor ceremony, and his face is rosy with happiness the entire time. He cries when he is permitted to kiss his bride, and then beams at all of them.</p><p>Hinata smiles and claps.</p><p>The reception is a riotous affair. The music blares for at least a mile around, and the sake is passed around with fervent, shared joy. Hinata spins with Sakura and Tenten in wild circles, before she begs dizziness and needing to go to the bathroom.</p><p>When the bathroom door shuts behind her, she crawls into a stall and sobs. Her makeup starts to run down her face and her hair is falling out of its bun, and she can’t stop. She thinks she might cry until there’s nothing left, until she’s a hollowed-out husk of human being, and there’s nothing left for him to possibly remember—</p><p>She is pulled up from the floor roughly, but not maliciously. Rather, like the person handling her doesn’t quite know how to handle her.</p><p>“No one can see,” she begs.</p><p>He smothers her face into his chest and shunshins them both. She releases her pain when they corporealize. The sound echoes throughout the house. She cries pitifully, relentlessly, hopelessly against him, and his arms tighten around her until they feel like they’re bruising her.</p><p>“Stop, please,” he whispers in her ear.</p><p>Her brain doesn’t process his words. She’s too committed to her own grief. It wracks her body, and the physical pain is better than the inside-pain.</p><p>He lets go of her.</p><p>This, inexplicably, penetrates.</p><p>“What can I do?” Sasuke asks, and he is pale—paler than she’s ever seen him.</p><p>Her voice is terrible and ugly when it emerges. “What?”</p><p>“How can I make this stop.”</p><p>It occurs to her like a lance of lightning. It’s selfish. It’s monstrous. It’s nothing she should ever say. She <em>shouldn’t </em>do it.</p><p>“Don’t ask me that,” she cries.</p><p>“Anything,” he vows.</p><p>She recoils away from him.</p><p>“Don’t,” she commands shakily. “Don’t give me that power.”</p><p>His eyes flash. “Anything <em>possible</em>, Hinata.”</p><p>She feels like she’s been punched. She feels like a blind man staggering for water in a desert. She feels untethered from everything.</p><p>“Hold me.”</p><hr/><p>And he does.</p><p>He holds her like he cannot make sense of her, simultaneously terrified of her and inexplicably, equally, consumed by adoration for her.</p><p>She can feel his resentment, too. There are moments, intermittently, when he forces her head away as he thrusts furiously into her, like he doesn’t want to see her. Hinata’s neck aches dully when this happens, but the pain is grounding.</p><p>She prefers it. She prefers it so much to the alternative.</p><p>Because the alternative is…this: when he moves slowly—so slowly, that the pleasure inches like pain through her body. The alternative is also this: when he holds her so gently, his mouth presses down on hers so softly, that she can do nothing more than <em>be</em>. Like that. In his arms.</p><p>And it is, finally, this.</p><p>When she tightens around him, around this man she does not love, and it happens: a catastrophe like death. And it must be a death, because she forgets everything: her pain, the man she <em>does</em> love, who she is, her name. But he kisses her though it, and somehow she remembers that—will always remember it—the temperature of his lips and the way she can feel his heartbeat on his tongue.  </p><p>Afterwards, he watches her, eyes wide and solemn like a child’s.</p><p>“Having sex with someone doesn’t make you fall in love with them,” she says softly. “You know that.”</p><p>“Obviously,” he scorns lowly. But there’s petulance in the way his face contorts.</p><p>Hinata rolls onto side, away from him. “I shouldn’t have done this.” She is too tired to cry, and her eyes sting. “I’ve taken advantage. And I can never take it back—”</p><p>“Don’t care,” he whispers into her hair. His arm curves around her, and he holds her again with that bruising strength. “Use me.”</p><p>Eventually, she turns around, and she does.</p><hr/><p>Five years pass. Ino and Sai produce two lookalike children, each a miniature version of themselves. Sakura marries a woman from Suna. Naruto announces to the village that his wife is pregnant with twins.</p><p>Tsunade steps down from the hospital, and Hinata steps up. The former hokage doesn’t leave, but she is no longer looked to for command. Hinata isn’t given the luxury of time to adjust to the new position. Terrorist groups declare war without warning, and she is called on without reprieve to provide answers.</p><p>She does not feel up to the task. But the village stands, and it does not burn. She starts to feel like she never will; she must simply do the job.</p><p>Sasuke is eventually treated as a full-fledged shinobi once more, as improbable as the possibility had once seemed. He begins to leave for long stretches of time on missions. She returns home more often than not to find the house utterly silent.</p><p>The house changes in the five years. She finds it hard to qualify how.</p><p>One day, in fact, Hinata has an utterly ordinary day in which nothing at all unusual happens. Her day at work passes by with its usual moderate amount of success. Her assistant forgets to order her lunch—again. Hinata says nothing about it—again. The usual unnecessary construction happening on the main road leading to the complex means she has to trudge through knee-high wild grass.</p><p>Hinata enters the house smelling of grass and dirt. She hears Sasuke come through the door behind her.</p><p>She turns to give him the usual greeting.</p><p>He looks just as he has every other day these past few months, cloaked head to toe in black, hair curling just slightly by his chin, skin pale. There’s blood dripping off of him onto the floor from a mission she doesn’t really want to know about. His boots have tracked dirt into the house as well. He raises the jute bag in his hand. “Picked up more eggplant.”</p><p><em>Oh</em>.</p><p>He strolls into the kitchen, blind to the way Hinata’s eyes follow him dumbly.</p><p>“Eggplant miso soup or do you want it grilled?”</p><p>“Sasuke,” she says softly.</p><p>“Both?” he mocks.</p><p>“Sasuke.”</p><p>Eyebrows raised, he turns to look at her.</p><p>And, somehow, on this day, on the most ordinary day of all days, ten years since they have married, her breath catches.</p><p>“I think…” her breath rattles in her chest.</p><p>He crosses his arms. “<em>Yes</em>?” He’s never been patient. He has only gotten good at pretending he is in front of other people.</p><p>“I think I’m in love,” she says in a rush, “with you.”</p><p>She feels, beyond all reason, like she’s run a lap. She feels exultant like she has too. She feels like she can’t stop running.</p><p>“Of course,” he says evenly. He turns around suddenly, to continue skinning the eggplant he had started. “Did you think I didn’t know?”</p><p>She can see, even from where she is, the way his cheekbones arch, much higher than they usually do.</p><p>She stumbles over to him and leans into his back, hands scrabbling around to his front to hold him.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she whispers.</p><p>“<em><span class="u">S</span>azae-oni,”</em> he murmurs back, voice uneven. “What can you possibly be sorry for?”</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>Author's Note:</strong>
</p><p>The Prompt: In which Hinata and Sasuke both love Naruto...and then they fall in love with each other.</p><p>Lol let's acknowledge the fact that NO ONE asked for this--I just wrote it. To be honest, I feel like this would definitely be better suited to a longer fic (I'm definitely covering a lot of time for a one-shot, and that's something I'm personally not used to) buuuut as most of you reading this probably know, I have another commitment I need to address first hehe.</p><p>Anyway, basically, I wrote this pretty much in one stretch, and it's VERY far from perfect, but I thought I'd share it anyway :D Hope you enjoyed it!</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>Disclaimer: Images aren't mine! Original image found on tumblr by majiteenshi (https://majiteenshi.tumblr.com/post/121208566096/forever-in-sasuhina-hell-tbh) :)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Some creative choices:<br/>- I'm using a more Boruto-esque characterization of Sasuke. I think. I haven't actually watched most of Boruto.<br/>- Hinata never confessed (to Naruto)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Tattoo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Prompt: "I'd love to see something kaksaku involving her tattoo..." - devre_01</p><p>Pairing: Kakashi/Sakura</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Yes?”</p><p>It’s an unusual way to answer a call. Rude, even. And yet, the singular word is delivered so blandly—without any particular emotion at all—that it somehow manages to evade offence. Ino, whom Sakura saw only yesterday pull out a gun at a busy intersection because some “bastard looked at her the wrong way,” continues without pause.</p><p>“Is this Hatake Kakashi?” she asks, full lips pursing. Her voice is firm and throaty, the kind that seems flirtatious with very little concerted effort. There’s a pause on the line, in which the man on the other end of the line registers this.</p><p>“That depends on who’s asking.” The nonchalance remains, with a sly edge now.</p><p>Ino sweeps her hair back, preening for a nonexistent audience. A smile crosses her face. It’s the first Sakura has seen appear within ten feet of her.</p><p>It had taken Ino only ten minutes after being assigned to her detail to begin cussing Sakura out for encroaching on ‘claimed’ territory—because, apparently, her bodyguard is in love with her fiancé and has been for years.</p><p>But not so in love, Sakura notes, that she is altogether deterred from pursuing the more receptive.</p><p>She sees the exact moment the Yamanaka girl recalls that she has initiated this call at Sakura’s request, not her own. Her mouth flattens, and she shoots Sakura resentful look. Her tone becomes abruptly business like.</p><p>“Yamanaka Ino. My charge, Haruno Sakura, would like to visit the parlor tonight.”</p><p>Another pause on the other end of the line. The voice is disinterested once more. “Unfortunately—” the word distinctly lacks anything remotely conciliatory—“we are closed. You can refer to our website for our usual operating hours—”</p><p>“I work for the Uchihas,” Ino cuts in, pride thick in her voice. She knows the weight that name carries.</p><p>“I see,” Hatake drawls slowly.</p><p>“The lady Sakura,” Ino adds, voice smooth still although her face is hard, “is Uchiha Sasuke’s fiancé.”</p><p>Despite the special detestation the blonde woman nurses for her, Sakura would admittedly be hard-pressed to say that Ino has ever failed to do a job less than satisfactorily. </p><p>“The Senjus’ sacrificial lamb,” he repeats again, tone blasé. “I would be honored.”</p><p>Ino’s gaze darts to Sakura when these words blare from the cell phone, sharp and unmistakable. At Sakura’s lack of reaction, the blonde girl gives a haughty scoff.</p><p>“We’ll be there in fifteen,” Ino declares.</p><p>“Wear something nice for me,” the low voice returns, silken again.</p><p>Ino hangs up, but the sneer on her lips has smoothed into a startled, pretty smile. Sakura watches, curious. It’s not as though Hatake’s lines have been particularly ingenious or exceptionally earnest. His come-ons, on the contrary, are the often regurgitated kind.</p><p>Still, maybe there is something about a voice like that—smooth with an impenetrable calm and an air of constant amusement, even in detachment—that is attractive to women. Even already in-love, prickly women like Ino.</p><p>It’s impressive, Sakura acknowledges.</p><p>Ino’s gaze returns to her, narrowing. “This better be the last place we have to visit. I’m fucking tired of driving you around to all these random tattoo parlors at odd hours in the night.”</p><p>Sakura stares at her, then bows her head slightly. This sight seems to anger Ino further, who storms off loudly.</p><p>Sakura raises her head, expression blank. After a moment, she stands and smoothes her kimono. Then, she follows.</p>
<hr/><p>“Are you certain you will not need me?” Tenzou asks, voice solemn.</p><p>Kakashi doesn’t raise his head from his book. “Astonishing though it may seem, I am in fact capable of manning the register as well.”</p><p>“I don’t understand why you always send me away whenever they visit the shop.”</p><p>Sighing, Kakashi lowers his book. A shame. After two hundred pages, Mikito had finally realized her attraction to the same sex and had just begun to engage in some stirring cunnilingus.</p><p>“Your face is too honest for the yakuza, Tenzou,” Kakashi says, eyes crinkling.</p><p>The older man’s brow furrows. “This isn’t yakuza. This is Uchiha Sasuke’s fiancé.”</p><p>“Indeed,” Kakashi says easily, “and we can’t let a handsome face like yours lure a yakuza’s woman away, now can we?”</p><p>Tenzou blinks before he frowns. “Your face is the one we should be concerned about then, senpai.”</p><p>Kakashi pats his mask. “That’s why I wear this. I’ve learned my lesson since that first stalker.”</p><p>“Stalker?” Brown eyes widen in alarm. “You get those in a tattoo parlor?”</p><p>The clock makes a telling, clicking noise, as it does whenever it reaches an hour mark. Kakashi’s eyes narrow briefly, before his expression returns to one of boredom. He stands and herds Tenzou out the backdoor.</p><p>“You’ll be wearing one of these too, Tenzou,” Kakashi drawls. “It’s only a matter of days…with those doe-eyes.”</p><p>“Senpai,” Tenzou protests indignantly, “my eyes aren’t—” He shuts the door in his face. For good measure, because Tenzou is a determined, if well-meaning, new addition to the parlor, Kakashi twists the lock.</p><p>He idles back to his chair and lifts his legs one at a time to rest on the table once more. Taking a hold of Jiraiya’s latest masterpiece gingerly, he begins to shuffle through the pages. Just as he locates the correct one—the page he had stopped at—a bell rings loudly.</p><p>At first, Kakashi considers that it’s Tenzou, determined to stay. But the footsteps that enter are high-pitched: the clack of heels against their tile floor. A second pair of footsteps follow, softer and more muted.</p><p>“I’m impressed,” he says out loud. “Fifteen minutes from the Uchiha complex was already a stretch. And you’ve made it here in ten.”</p><p>His head rolls back, eyes angling to see the newest occupants of the parlor.</p><p>His eyes rest first on a blonde woman. Jean shorts rest low on well-formed hips, while breasts—creamy and sumptuous—spill over her top. His gaze flicks downward, traces slowly the lines of long legs covered in fishnet, bronzed by hours in the sun.</p><p>“We did not want to waste your time, Hatake-san,” a quiet voice emerges from somewhere behind.</p><p>Kakashi’s gaze shifts accordingly, if briefly, to a taller woman dressed onerously in at least ten layers of kimono. Her features are plain, unremarkable except for an atypically large forehead and pink hair. It contrasts jarringly with the yellow kimono she wears.</p><p>He evaluates her for a second, before his eyes return to the one who had spoken to him on the phone. “Ino, I assume?”</p><p>“Kakashi, I assume?” she returns archly. Her voice is even more coquettish in person.</p><p>“You’ve dressed nicely, indeed.” His gaze passes over once more, mostly for show. An appreciative blush paints her cheeks, but her gaze is unabashed.</p><p>“Might I take a look at some examples of your work, Hatake-san?” the Uchiha’s fiancé interrupts softly.</p><p>Wordlessly, he fishes out an album from the desk’s shelves.</p><p>She grasps it carefully. No extra weight is imparted onto his hand from the contact, like she’s wary of burdening another person even to this extent. She dismisses herself to a corner to peruse the pictures.</p><p>“For you?” Ino says coyly, elbows resting on the counter as she leans forward. She allows him a long view of her breasts. “Don’t delude yourself.”</p><p>“This is the vision you bestow on all us hapless mortals, then?” Kakashi asks amusedly.</p><p>“I’ve heard things about you, Kakashi-san,” the woman murmurs, plush lips shaping the words with practiced sensuality. “From what I’ve heard, you aren’t exactly a hapless man.”</p><p>He lets his eyes crinkle amiably while he evaluates her expression. Running in the circles she does, it is likely that what she has heard more truth than untruth about him. There’s no wariness or trepidation in her approach, which is telling in and of itself. Whatever she knows, it’s not the full truth.</p><p>Kakashi stands. Her eyes lift suggestively beneath her lashes, tracking him. A quick fuck in the storeroom, he can read in her eyes. If she deems that encounter promising enough, she’ll make a place in his bed for the night.</p><p>He eyes her. The type to leave kitten scratches in his back, he guesses, and consider herself a rough lover. But she looks strong enough to keep up with him for at least half a night.</p><p>Whatever might have passed between them, however, is interrupted by the shrill ring of a phone. The blonde blinks round, blue eyes and then reaches into the valley between her breasts to pull out a cellphone.</p><p>“Yes?” She answers. Her eyes widen at the response, a flush reddening her face as she looks at Kakashi. “Yes, Uchiha-san. I will be there immediately.”</p><p>She swipes her finger across the screen of the phone.</p><p>“Duty calls,” she says, lips pouting. Her fingers trail over his forearm apologetically.</p><p>“I’ll be staying,” the Uchiha’s fiancé responds, head bowed.</p><p>Ino looks taken aback by this response. “Really? After ten different tattoo parlors, <em>this</em> is the one that finally satisfies your mysterious criteria.”</p><p>The pink-haired woman blinks. He wonders idly if she’s slow—if that’s why the Senju gave her up.</p><p>“Look,” Ino says, voice harsher now. “I need to go.”</p><p>“If I leave now, I’ll just have to make you drive me back tomorrow night and wait for how many ever hours it takes for Hatake-san to finish his work,” she says evenly. “Or you can leave me here to attend to Sasuke-sama, and then come back once you’ve finished.”</p><p>The blonde’s gaze flickers between the two of them, considering.</p><p>“His shop’s in Uchiha territory. He relies on our patronage,” the Senju girl continues softly. “I won’t be harmed here.”</p><p>It’s a reasonable conclusion, though not for the reasons stated, Kakashi reflects. Laziness is merely a hard mistress to disobey. He has no need for the Uchihas, per se, but they have admittedly made his life convenient.</p><p>“Fine,” Ino snaps finally. She seems more strained each second passes that she has not left. She spins on her heel and points a finger at him. “If anything happens to her, I will gut you and hang your entrails from my balcony.”</p><p>Kakashi raises his hands harmlessly.</p><p>She shoots a glare at her charge and then leaves, the bell ringing dully behind her as the door creaks to a close. His fake smile drops as the quarry leaves the shop.</p><p>There’s still the money, he reminds himself.</p><p>Expression slack with disinterest, his head cocks to the side to examine his customer.</p>
<hr/><p>Hatake Kakashi is even more unusual in person.</p><p>A summary of contradictions, Sakura decides. Fixated on Ino as expected, and yet utterly aware of every inch of his shop at all times. He’s tall and lanky, but the silent way he moves speaks of hidden strength—it takes considerable muscle control to move like that.</p><p>He makes a show of being reeled in by Ino’s coy front, Sakura notes over the album, but in fact, he’s rather the one doing the reeling. Not that Ino notices.</p><p>It’s masterful, really—especially that it’s all done silently. None of the words that come out of his mouth have any special meaning. It’s some unnamable quality, and it unmistakably renders him an insidiously effective predator. It is, also, all the more potent in person.</p><p>Given what she perceives of the artist, she’s not at all surprised by the album in her hands.</p><p>The artwork is astonishingly arrogant—it lacks all self-consciousness and consideration for limitation. It’s egotistical and selfless, vulgar and intellectual. It’s obscene and breathtaking, and it makes her release an unconscious murmur of appreciation.</p><p>His gaze flicks absentmindedly toward her at the noise. It’s purely conditioned reflex, without any particular interest. No, all the limited interest he has, he had reserved for her mercurial bodyguard.</p><p>Her own gaze returns to the album. This artist, she decides silently, is the one. Ha-ta-ke Ka-ka-shi.</p><p>As expected, when Ino leaves, the predatorial interest subsides, leaving something like detached ennui in place. In less than a breath, the glint of silver—cutting and lethal—that she had seen is effortlessly drawn within. He has determined, she perceived, that he has no need for it with her.</p><p>“Have you decided what you would like, Mrs. Uchiha?” he asks.</p>
<hr/><p>“Have you decided what you would like, Mrs. Uchiha?” Kakashi drawls.</p><p>“The marriage has yet to happen, Hatake-san,” Uchiha’s fiancé murmurs, face tipped down, “my name is still Haruno Sakura.”</p><p>In her bright kimono, with that soft voice, she looks like the wistful, romantic sort. He doubts her fiancé has fucked her. The younger one—Sasuke, Kakashi recalls vaguely—had had a sour, standoffish look about him when he had come in for his tattoos.</p><p>“A flower, then?” he says lightly, picking up a spare needle on the counter and flipping between his fingers. He affords this task more attention than the words that come out of his mouth. “A small, respectable sakura blossom.”</p><p>If he can make this quick, the sooner he will be able to return to the book.</p><p>“Or, perhaps, you would prefer the fan,” he adds indifferently.</p><p>“Fan?” she asks, eyes lowered.</p><p>“The symbol the Uchihas have adopted. You wouldn’t be the first of their women to choose to wear your man’s fealty on your body.”</p><p>There’s a pause before she speaks again. “Have you tattooed many fans?” she inquires.</p><p>The last had been between the thighs of one of their mistresses. She had come with her cunt wrapped tight around his fingers like a vise, just as he had finished.</p><p>“A few,” he intones, dancing the needle across his knuckles.</p><p>She stands to return the album to him. It’s placed gently on the counter. “I have something else in mind.”</p><p>He sees her obi flutter behind her.</p><p>“I have a partially completed piece already. I would like to finish it.”</p><p>This catches his attention. His head raises sharply, eyes narrowed. He hadn’t expected that.</p><p>“When was your last session?”</p><p>“Three months ago.”</p><p>So not virgin skin, then. Maybe she already has the beginnings of a sakura blossom on her. Kakashi’s eyebrows lift. She wouldn’t be the first daunted by pain to take months to return.</p><p>“Get on a chair,” Kakashi says slowly. “I’ll take a look at it.”</p><p>He points her to the last of a line of tattooing rooms at the back of the shop. She bows her head and takes quiet, well-behaved steps in the direction he has indicated. He prods the needle in his hand into one of the small grooves on the counter beneath him, before turning to follow.</p><p>He leaves the door open behind him when he enters the room. They are the only ones in the parlor as it is. The lighting in this room—like it is in all his rooms—is brightest on the chair and more forgiving elsewhere.</p><p>Shadows tease near the walls, and this suits Kakashi well. While he appreciates the rigid artistry of a surgeon, he isn’t one.</p><p>“Make yourself comfortable,” he says blandly, snapping gloves onto his hands. “Any allergies?”</p><p>“None to my knowledge,” she responds, as she sits on the chair.</p><p>He crosses his arms and leans against the back wall, silently prompting her to show him what he is to work on. She meets his gaze, for the first time, head-on. He has the briefest impression of pale green eyes, before she pivots on the chair, so that her back is to him.</p><p>Her hands move first to her obi, pulling at the thick band of cloth until it loosens. She folds it and neatly places it beside her. Next follow the koshi himo belts. These require more time, having been tied more tightly to bind all the kimono’s layers together. When they do come off, they too are neatly coiled before being placed down.</p><p>Kakashi begins to wish that he had brought the book in with him. Every movement is militant in its practicality. To say the least, this is considerably far from the erotic unclothing that has been performed in front of him before.</p><p>It occurs to him that she has turned away to preserve some false sense of modesty.</p><p>He averts his gaze, bored.</p><p>Layer by layer, she peels off her kimono, folding each fallen layer into a neat square. His gaze returns when, at last, she is left in the thin, white cloth of the juban.</p><p>Her hands are hovering—hesitating.</p><p>Kakashi’s eyebrow arches.</p><p>“You need not fear for your modesty, Ms. Haruno,” he says slowly, as he would with a child. “I only touch those who request the additional service.”</p><p>It is a slip, an indulgence he should have forgone.</p><p>He expects her to revolt. He waits for her to flinch. He wants her to flinch. He wants to see her pale, plain face redden in mortification, and he wants to see her run away, those soft, muted footsteps scrabbling piteously like a mouse’s along the tile floor.</p><p>That part of him—that savage, sadistic part of him that has been forced into starvation for years—sustains itself on paltry moments like these.</p><p>She does not.</p><p>Her hands move studiously to the edges of the pale cloth, where it brushes the base of her neck. And then she shrugs the juban swiftly off.</p><p>Her back is revealed in increments as the juban falls, rippling with muscle as she shifts forward to help it descend. And as it descends, inch by inch, tattooed skin is exposed to Kakashi’s eyes.</p><p>Two dancing figures dominate her back, each curved toward the other as though caught indefinitely in a state of perpetual attraction and repulsion. The first is a woman wielding a fan; it covers most of her face, revealing only smiling lips. In her other hand she holds an amulet, fingers extended as though to taunt her partner. Her partner is not a man—not a human one, at least. Like on most yakuza’s bodies, here Kakashi finds a demon, its body covered in ancient armor. A violent smile decorates its face, telling both of bloodthirst and of amusement.</p><p>It is resplendent. It is incomplete.</p><p>It is, also, incomprehensible.</p><p>She twists to look at him. Kakashi watches the lean muscle of her back shift. Scars decorate her sides.</p><p>“How many sessions will it take to complete?” she asks, voice still soft.</p><p>He believes none of it now.</p>
<hr/><p>The air conditioning causes her skin to prickle. Normally, she would be unperturbed, but the contrast between ten layers of kimono to this is unavoidably jarring.</p><p>“How many sessions will it take to complete?” she asks.</p><p>His gaze rests on her, acute.  She waits patiently for an answer.</p><p>“Whose work is this?”</p><p>She pauses. “I don’t see how that matters.”</p><p>“I insist,” Hatake returns.</p><p>She brings her hand to her mouth and lowers her eyes. “I apologize, Hatake-san. I can’t seem to remember his name.”</p><p>“Oh?” he says, a smile in his voice beneath the mask. “Then you can walk out of my shop.”</p><p>Sakura feels her face change. She smoothes it as she lifts her head slowly to meet his gaze.</p><p>“You’re not a stupid girl at all, are you?” he murmurs, head cocking to the side.</p><p>“Stupid?” she asks, calm.</p><p>“Who are you,” he states, “I wonder.”</p><p>Sakura watches him. He doesn’t move toward her.</p><p>“I believe I mentioned my name earlier. Haruno Sakura.”</p><p>“Indeed,” Hatake drawls. “But you’re no yakuza’s woman.”</p><p>She can suddenly hear it in his voice—that cool, effortless predation. She realizes that she had only heard the barest strains of it before, when he had been with the Yamanaka girl. He is overbearing now, brutal and forceful, in his pursuit.</p><p>She wonders, suddenly, what it would feel like to be fucked. She wonders what it would be like to be fucked by him.</p><p>“I am affianced to Uchiha Sasuke,” she says, before demurring, “But I am not yet one.”</p><p>His gaze crinkles, like he appreciates these words. He pushes off the wall, moves to stand right next to her. His eyes angle down to her back.</p><p>“This work is exquisite,” he tells her, tone nonchalant, “Ordinary women don’t want something like this. Most yakuza’s women don’t either. But above all else, Ms. Haruno, this close—there is no mistaking your scars. You are accustomed to weaponizing your body.”</p><p>Hatake’s smile fades. His gaze is sharp on her now.</p><p>“A yakuza’s woman?” he tells her. “<em>You’re</em> yakuza, aren’t you.”</p><p>Sakura evaluates him, features cool.</p><p>“Yes,” she agrees, bowing her head. “I am.”</p>
<hr/><p>Kakashi hears this stunning confession, submitted so demurely, and feels his chest tighten with greed.</p><p>The sentiment arises abruptly and incontrovertibly. He does not question it.</p><p>He wants her—this woman who speaks so softly and is yakuza—splayed beneath him, hands locked tight on the edges of that chair, hips and powerful back undulating as he thrusts into her in selfish, savage strokes. He wants her soft, soft voice to raise so loudly that his ears ring with the sound of her.</p><p>Their breaths fill the silence that lapses between them momentarily.</p><p>“I am yakuza,” she eventually repeats, lashes falling. “And I will be Sasuke-sama’s woman when we are married.”</p><p>This, he believes, may even be true. She has repeated it faithfully the entire while. Now that her head is lifted, moreover, he can see the unflinching look in her eyes.</p><p>“Why?” he questions amicably, disguising the enormity of his gluttony. “I can’t see him as the type to have made you promises.”</p><p>She nods slowly. “Indeed, Sasuke-sama has made none.”</p><p>“Some women are content without promises even as they are forced in turn to lead faithful existences, as you will be,” Kakashi acknowledges. “Do you believe, then, that he will fuck you particularly well whenever he does deign to visit your bed?”</p><p>Her head tilts to the side. Her gaze is both curious and—he can see now—dangerous.</p><p>“Or,” he murmurs, “are you uninterested in fucking altogether?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t know,” she says. “I have yet to fuck anyone.”</p><p>Her ears don’t burn at the words. Her cheeks do not flush. Her lips do not part, nor does she sigh. She does not look away from him.</p><p>Her neck has been twisted this entire time, to look at him. She turns now on the chair so that she is facing him. She is naked down to her waist.</p><p>He has seen larger breasts, rounder breasts, softer breasts—he wants none of them now. His blood heats like it never has, and it is at the sight of hers. She watches him watch her, and he thinks she might know it too.</p><p>He wonders if he will be the one to seduce her now, or if she has been the one coaxing him closer this entire time.</p><p>“That’s a shame,” Kakashi recites dutifully—the words are toneless because he applies minimal effort. “A man like Uchiha Sasuke for your first time?”</p><p>“Would that be a bad thing?” she responds, serene.</p><p>“He holds himself above the sway of woman and is inexperienced with them. When the time comes, if it does, he will almost assuredly hurt you.”</p><p>She listens to these words without a flutter of an eye.</p><p>“Might I suggest that you test it out with someone a little more...prolific in experience?” he requests, and thus follows the hollow play to its foregone conclusion. “I humbly submit myself for your consideration.”</p><p>He waits to devour. Possibly, he waits as well to be devoured.</p><p>“But Hatake-san,” she says quietly, “you seem like you would like to hurt me as well.”</p><p>Kakashi’s mouth curves. “Oh, only in ways that would please both you and me, Ms. Haruno.”</p><p>She considers these words placably and with an air of solemnity, like a judge at court.</p><p>“And if I should want to hurt you?”</p><p>He lunges for her.</p>
<hr/><p>He is not gentle, Sakura is unsurprised to find.</p><p>As it happens, Sakura is not gentle either.</p><p>There’s no pause between the retraction of his fingers and the thrust of his cock into her. He is greedy and impatient. The swift, first penetration of her body burns with pain. </p><p>She likes it. Her cunt squeezes covetously around him. She claws at his back in punishment. His head raises from where it had been positioned before—to watch raptly the way they had joined—to meet her gaze, mouth parted. His mask is gone, his expression exposed.</p><p>“I want,” he gasps raggedly against her throat, “to gorge myself on you.”</p><p>He is obscene. She wants to fold him into her.</p><p>Sakura’s abdomen ripples. She tightens her core and flips them both, until she sits on top. He watches her, gaze dark.</p><p>Her hair has fallen slightly from the tight bun she had pinned into place that morning. She tilts her head to the side so that the hair shifts to one side, and then she sinks the rest of the way down.</p><p>His muscles—and they are powerful, as she has expected, because she knows who and what he once was—shift powerfully to unseat her, to fuck into her, but she tenses her thighs and bears down. Perhaps equally effectively, she tightens around him.</p><p>A low, sibilant hiss escapes his lips, and he glares at her like he hates her.</p><p>“I like that look on your face,” she says, voice soft.</p><p>Her hands passes over his hair, before her fingers tighten in it. She does not curb her strength. His expression shifts.</p><p>“Do you like that I was a virgin?” she wonders out loud.</p><p>He’s begun thrusting shallowly into her, the little amount that he is able to as his muscles flex against hers, strengthening increasingly. His head falls lazily to the side at this gratification, but she isn’t fooled. His eyes burn lividly for more.</p><p>His eyebrow arches. “I couldn’t care less. Would you have preferred different lies?”</p><p>He breathes the words the next words against her throat. “I can lie however you want, so long as we end up here.”</p><p>His hands grasp her shoulders, and he drives upward, pinning her down so that her head hits the opposite end of the flattened chair. He looms over her, imperious, and then snaps his hips into her. The force of his thrust drives her up the chair. Sakura’s mouth opens in stunned speechlessness.</p><p>Her hands shift with lightning speed to grasp the chair’s edges, just in time for the next thrust.</p>
<hr/><p>He is uncertain where it comes from—and why, of all people, it comes for her. But he is beholden to a hunger that is incommensurable to him, nevertheless; it threatens to leave nothing left.</p><p>She’s on her front now, and he kisses up her spine, laving at the unfinished tattoo on her back.</p><p>Her eyes meet his over her shoulder.</p><p>“I will finish it,” he tells her, voice harsh in command.</p><p>She stares at him for a moment. Then, her gaze moves forward, a low sound escaping her as he thrust punishingly into her.</p><p>Her head lifts again a second later. “I had already decided that,” she says.</p><p>“And now, I accept,” Kakashi hisses into her ear.</p><p>She’s silent for a moment, and then she laughs, soft and hoarse. And this, too, he wants. He wants to consume this sound too, straight from her throat.</p><p>“Ha-ta-ke Ka-ka-shi,” she sighs, “the yakuza who knew how to kill a man a thousand ways.”</p><p>His hand had gripped her chin; it shifted instinctually to her throat. He stills above her.</p><p>She doesn’t blink. She twists up, like a creeper.</p><p>His muscles tense around her, and then he’s turning them over and shifting them up, so that she’s seated on his lap and they’re chest to chest.</p><p>She stares at him. Like a snake, she strikes. Lips, briefly and chastely, glance his. She retreats.</p><p>It sets him ablaze.  </p><p>He pushes forward, lips ravenous on hers, and teaches her how it is done.</p>
<hr/><p>She comes, wrapped around him, three times. He comes too—but after fucking her for almost two more minutes after her final orgasm, brutal and desperate. She watches him search for it between her legs, gasping and scrambling against her, sinksing her teeth into his throat when he finds it.</p><p>A minute might have passed. Or an hour. She doesn’t know. But it occurs to her that Ino will be back.</p><p>She separates from him, and cool air washes over her damp skin. She moves to the nearly folded kimono that had been unceremoniously shoved onto the floor, and begins tying it back in place, layer by layer.</p><p>He shifts, watching her through a heavy-lidded gaze. Sakura stands to her full height, knotting the obi around her waist.</p><p>“You will go to him.”</p><p>She inclines her head. Nothing has changed.</p><p>She watches his eyes harden, though his expression remains smooth.</p><p>“Ha-ru-no Sa-ku-ra,” he mimics her, “a yakuza’s woman and a yakuza.”</p><p>She smiles moderately. “Not just a yakuza,” she corrects quietly. She turns toward him, cupping his chin. “The yakuza to rule them all.”</p><p>He listens to this, and his gaze does not change. He does not laugh at her or ridicule her. He accepts, unflinchingly, that she will make this true.</p><p>“Will you seduce him, as you’ve seduced me?” he asks lightly. His eyes are murderous. “Take him. I’ll erase every memory of him from your skin. I’ll fuck you until you’ll know no words but my name and those required to beg.”</p><p>She’s breathless, suddenly, with hunger for him. It’s senseless. And yet, this particular appetite appears insatiable.</p><p>One day, she thinks, he will be hers. No matter what his loyalties are now.</p><p>A yakuza’s man.</p><p>His eyes glint, like he knows what she is thinking.</p><p>Sakura smiles. She bows her head to hide it. </p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>Author's Note:</strong>
</p><p>Drop a comment! Would love to know what you think :)  </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>Disclaimer: Images aren't mine! I know this isn't actually Kakashi....but I'm pretending (from <a href="https://netamashii.tumblr.com/post/60109408895/gintama-yakuza-tattoo-never-again-this-was-hell">here</a>). Sakura's from <a href="https://fineillsignup.tumblr.com/post/169490589353/mamakura-youre-too-cute-by-tiffany19961216">here</a>--feel free to comment any other ideas!</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Teashop</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Pairing: Hinata/Naruto</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hyuuga Hinata liked mornings. She liked the crisper than usual breeze, long before the sun had warmed the earth. She liked the quiet and the calm, before the bustling of midday. And above all else, she liked the piping hot, shincha (picked earliest in the season and the sweetest) her favorite teahouse offered its early guests at discount that time of day.</p><p>It was a small teashop, worn and homely. Nevertheless, it found more than its fair share of customers.</p><p>Possibly because it was positioned right opposite Konoha’s best purveyor of ramen.</p><p>(So, maybe the tea wasn’t the only reason Hinata was drawn to the teahouse).</p><p>As it happened, Hinata had spent many mornings, afternoons, and evenings in this particular booth. The shincha really was excellent. And—well, it wasn’t so much <em>stalking </em>as—appreciating the view. She was simply appreciating the view.</p><p>The shopkeeper had caught her once or twice (actually, every time after the first), but <em>he</em> had never noticed. Which didn’t actually surprise her. Naruto attacked his ramen with the kind of single-mindedness that was genuinely frightening.</p><p>And, well, it was the perfect start to her day. For reasons. Even if, nutritionally, she really couldn’t condone the consumption of ramen for breakfast.</p><p>With a relaxed sigh, she finished off the last of her shincha. It was much needed fuel for what was looking to be a long day. An ANBU had been dropped off the night before with first degree burns all over his body. The emergency team had worked until nearly dawn to stabilize him. Now, it was time for Hinata and her team to come in to finish the healing process.</p><p>It was looking as of now to be a full day of work. Which, normally, Hinata wouldn’t mind, except that she had recently been placed in charge of individuals who had formerly been her peers. Peers who had all but told her the previous day that, no, they weren’t inclined to listen to her because they <em>very much</em> felt she had been chosen only because she was the hokage’s chosen apprentice. Never mind that all their applications had been reviewed by a third party counsel, or that all their names had been stricken out, or that they had all been evaluated solely on the basis of their track records.</p><p>Hinata wasn’t a person who conscionably entertained violent thoughts (entirely why her career as a field medic-nin had turned out the way it had). But, now, even she was sorely tempted to let <em>one </em>Gentle Fist…</p><p>She shook the horrible thought away, a frown on her face.</p><p>It was simply that—she felt she had finally found her place. Hinata hadn’t been good as a combat shinobi because she hadn’t <em>wanted</em> to be. But in the hospital, she <em>wanted </em>to be good. And she was good. It <em>felt </em>good. A calm she had never felt before washed over whenever a critical patient was placed in front of her. In the surgery room, it wasn’t hard for her to take command.</p><p>Ironically, it was exactly as her father abandoned the idea of her as clan leader, that Hinata began to see it as…possible. Hyuuga Hiashi, of course, did not think someone who had never killed, never ‘sacrificed’ (as he put it), could lead them.</p><p>Hinata privately thought this...close-minded.  </p><p>As though she didn’t make sacrifices each day in the surgery room—cutting the limb to save the life; letting someone go blind to save his chakra paths; focusing more attention on a daughter than her father because she had a better chance of survival and they only had so much time before both were dead.</p><p>Hinata, like any combat shinobi, had had a hand in the death of countless individuals as a medic-nin. Unlike combat shinobi, she had not intended for it to end that way. It <em>was </em>a burden on her conscience, each life she lost. But it was one she could live with; killing had not been.</p><p>Suddenly realizing how hard she was gripping the cup in her hands, Hinata let go of it abruptly. It clacked against the wooden table with a high ring, but thankfully, did not break.</p><p>Setting it aright, she lowered her head and gave a relieved sigh—</p><p>“Hi.”</p><p>Her head darted up. Hinata blinked when piercing blue eyes met hers, then felt her face redden.</p><p>“I, uh,” Naruto scratched his head, “saw you. From there—” he pointed demonstratively at Ichiraku Ramen—“though I’d swing by and say hi.”</p><p>Hinata swallowed with difficulty. Her throat was so dry.</p><p>“Hi,” she croaked finally.</p><p>“Right,” Naruto said, staring strangely at her. “I wanted to thank you. For taking care of me in the hospital. And that ointment! It worked really well.”</p><p>He beamed at her.</p><p>“I’m glad.” But then Hinata frowned, remembering something. “Y-you know, you never told me how you got those injuries.”</p><p>“Oh,” Naruto said, eyes widening slightly. He squinted up at the ceiling. “Well, see, there was this <em>thing, </em>and then <em>that </em>happened, you know? So, it sort of just…It really was an accident—”</p><p>“Naruto-kun,” she said. “It’s not right to lie to a medical professional.”</p><p>Her voice was still quiet, so she was taken aback when Naruto froze like she had barked at him.</p><p>She regretted that, a little. But she didn’t take it back. She had seen enough wounds to know the ones on Naruto had not been accidental. They had been made with almost surgical precision—intended, not to harm the most, but certainly to <em>hurt </em>the most. To teach a lesson.</p><p>And the thought of anyone touching Naruto like that made her—made her—</p><p>“It was a training session,” he answered lowly.</p><p>Hinata’s eyes flew wide open. “<em>Sakura</em>-san did that to you?”</p><p>“No, no,” Naruto said, waving his hands as though to bat the accusation away. “She’s actually a lot nicer now.”</p><p>Understanding chilled Hinata’s body, causing hair to raise on her flesh. “Then Kakashi-san did. H-he <em>hurt </em>you like that.”</p><p>Naruto looked at her, his face grim and somehow so—so young. After a moment, he nodded.</p><p>And Hinata was…</p><p>“H-Hinata,” Naruto stammered now, “Are you okay? You look really pale. Are you going to faint again—”</p><p>“No!”</p><p>“You’re yelling,” he said dazedly. Then his forehead scrunched. “I didn’t know you could do that. Wait, why are you yelling?”</p><p>Because Hinata was <em>furious</em>.</p><p>“Every shinobi has to go through a yearly checkup,” she muttered to herself, “If I move things around—y-yes, I could manage that. It’s a little below my position, but it wouldn’t look <em>too </em>odd. I can be there—”</p><p>“Are you going to <em>hurt</em> him?!” Naruto gleaned from this, arms flapping. “No—no you shouldn’t. You’re a doctor, you can’t…”</p><p>Hurt a patient? Oh, yes she could. Funny how until two minutes ago, Hinata hadn’t thought her conscience could condone such a thing.</p><p>“—I just, I don’t get why?” he finished mumbling, “Why do you care at all?”</p><p>“Because I take care of what’s mine,” Hinata snapped.</p><p>Wait.</p><p>A minute.</p><p><em>What did she say</em>?</p><p>It took what seemed like an infinity for her gaze to reach Naruto’s face. Terror had stolen speech from her. She gaped as her eyes landed on a red face and wide, blue eyes.</p><p>She—she had just as good as run him off for good now, hadn’t she? Oh god, oh god, <em>oh god</em>…</p><p>“Ahhh,” Naruto wheezed, “whaaa…I didn’t—I mean, did you—”</p><p>Her face was beet red. She did actually feel like she was going to faint any second, actually.</p><p>But….then she noticed that Naruto didn’t exactly look…<em>disgusted</em>. He looked surprised. But also…his face was red…just like hers. And he wasn’t running, exactly, was he?</p><p>Maybe it was…Could it be? That this was…the <em>best</em> tea shop in the world?</p><p>“Huh,” Naruto finished dazedly.</p><p>Possibly.</p>
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</p><p>Disclaimer: Image isn't mine! Found <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/4503668366823268/">here</a>!</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Glance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Pairing: Sai/Shikamaru</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sai was perfectly content as he sat by himself at the bar. Swirling the dark liquid in his cup for a moment, he tilted his head back and downed it in one smooth motion.</p><p>The world was loud around him—louder than he was accustomed to. Drunken laughter and banter met his ears wherever he turned. Belatedly, he wondered if ‘bar-hopping’ was an activity meant to be conducted with others. The book he had read had not explicitly indicated it to be so; yet, he could hardly ignore the evidence before him. The booths lining the sides of the bar were filled with groups of both shinobi and civilians who had clearly arrived together.</p><p>Perhaps…he should have invited his teammates? ‘Bar-hopping’ seemed to be a form of bonding. And they were, in truth, still curiously alien to him: strange creatures that scarcely seemed human, at least, in the way that Sai was. But then, Sai had yet to meet many people who were human like he was.</p><p>He was beginning to wonder, in fact, if he was the deviance rather than the norm.</p><p>Naruto—was he what the average human embodied? Loud and impulsive; by the textbook, an obvious victim of small penis syndrome. Was Sai, too, meant to live life compensating for something?</p><p>Tapping his fingers idly, he considered his other teammate. Haruno Sakura was just as puzzling as Naruto. She was reserved most of the time, but possibly had anger issues as well. He remembered that she had slammed him into a tree. That had been unexpected.</p><p>There was more to his teammates than it seemed, Sai guessed. But as long as it did not interfere with his mission, he did not know why he should particularly care.</p><p>He frowned, examining an oddity within himself, that he was curious despite the fact he had no reason to be.</p><p>That was strange.</p><p>A trill of sharp, bell-like laughter pierced the air near him, interrupting his thoughts.</p><p>Sai cocked his head to the side and examined the source of the noise. It belonged to a blonde girl his own age. She had soft, delicate features of the sort popularly classified as ‘attractive,’ though Sai personally did not see their appeal. Long, healthy hair as well—she flipped it now over her shoulder as she talked to the boy sitting across from her. She was sitting next to another boy her age with short brown hair, but her attention did not seem to focus much on him, other than a glance every now and then.</p><p>Those glances were platonic, Sai decided after moment. But not the ones directed to the boy across from her. Her face blushed an interesting hue of pale pink every time she addressed him. Her laughter seemed to become only more trill-like as the conversation continued. Her pupils grew more dilated with time, her limbs curving suggestively as she imbibed more alcohol as well.</p><p>She was exhibiting the common courting practices of individuals his age, Sai reflected. He found this incredibly interesting. He knew he would find other examples if he continued to examine around the room. Yet, he settled with observing this one. He would prioritize proximity and depth of observation over diverse sampling just now.</p><p>Curious, his gaze moved left to the object of her amorous attention. The boy across from her, also Sai’s age, nursed a tall glass of what he knew to be bitter-sweet alcohol.</p><p>It was hard to tell from where Sai was sitting, but the boy did not seem to possess much musculature. Nor, he found with slight puzzlement, did he have many of the features commonly deemed ‘handsome.’ Intrigued, he wondered what drew the clearly socially desirable female to this particular male.</p><p>Tapping his fingers still, it took him a moment to realize his examination had been noticed. The boy’s eyebrow twitched in a small, miniscule moment. Then dark, cat-like eyes slid lazily to their right—sliding straight past the blonde girl, past the girl whose hands were inching their way down her partner’s pants against the wall, without pause, to Sai.</p><p>The girl continued to chatter. If the boy next to her noticed his friend’s sudden inattention, he did not show it.</p><p>The eyes that met his were razor-sharp, despite the amount of alcohol consumed in the glass before them. A slight chill swept over his body. Sai tilted his head to the side, captivated by his body’s reaction. He felt the urge to look away. That was odd. Was this embarrassment?</p><p>To luxuriate in the novelty of this feeling, Sai continued to return the stare. The eyes boring into his were unnervingly penetrating.</p><p>Deciding that a period of contemplation and reviewal was now due, Sai turned in his seat without hesitation to face his empty cup and the bartender again.</p><p>“Another drink?” the smirking woman asked.</p><p>Sai paused to consider the question, then nodded. He liked the sweet taste of the sake offered here.</p><p>She reached down to pull out the bottle. As she poured, the end of the bottle brushed her prominent breasts. His gaze flicked to them for a moment, then back to the cup.</p><p>She caught the movement. “Not interested?” she asked, pointing at her chest.</p><p>Sai’s gaze darted up briefly, unbothered by the question. “Not particularly.”</p><p>She huffed a laugh. Sai idly wondered if it were fake or genuine—he was unable to tell the difference as of yet. Her gaze moved to somewhere above him.</p><p>Grunt-like sounds began to emerge from his left.</p><p>He twisted slightly to look over. It seemed the girl against the wall had successfully made her way into her partner’s pants at last. Her arm moving in a telling up and down motion. The man’s expression was contorted in a tense display of ecstasy as he panted against the peeling wall.</p><p>Most averted their eyes from the sight in exaggerated horror, Sai observed. In truth, however, their body language betrayed them. The shifting of thighs, rubbing covertly together; the slight hitch in their breaths, unnecessary pauses in their story-telling.  </p><p>Sai was no stranger to this conduct, though it usually arose within him independent of an individual, occurring instead as the periodic if not rare result of his body’s natural call for sexual activity. He tended to address it in the usual hand to groin manner. (This was not to say Sai had never had sex with another person. Some ROOT missions in the recent past had made him a well-experienced participant in a variety of sexual acts.)</p><p>Despite the contradictory evidence in front him, Sai himself didn’t particularly see the appeal of sex with another person. He was entirely sure he had never worn such a ravished expression as the man before him. One’s body was known best, addressed with the most efficacy, only by oneself. This was what Sai had learned in his own experience.</p><p>It was oddly frustrating, therefore, that the man against the wall existed in front of Sai in the way he did. He was proving an exception to Sai’s rule. The man continued to writhe against the wall, causing clientele to nervously stutter their disapproval, until he reached completion. When he at last spent himself into his partner’s hand, he gave a loud, debauched cry before mouthing at her neck in worshipful gratitude.</p><p>While most around him continued to pretend to look away, Sai watched without qualms. The girl brushed her partner’s hair back with a strong, possessive hand, the other twisting in sly, quick movements, though he must have been oversensitive. He gave more soft, breathy cries, mouth slack with bliss. Sai’s gaze narrowed, wondering if the man were a masterful actor, and if so, what his agenda could possibly be.</p><p>“Noisy pair,” a smooth voice—intricately modulated—commented from behind him.</p><p>Sai turned and found a pair of dark, cat-like eyes examining him piercingly from the boy suddenly in the stool beside him.</p><p>“You’re the new one on Team Seven,” the boy said lazily, sipping the last of his drink. He exhaled lowly, the bitter-sweet scent of his breath curling into Sai’s nose.</p><p>“Sai,” he answered with careful blankness. When in doubt, he resorted to this state—a fortress of impenetrability. As manners dictated, he returned: “Your name?”</p><p>“Shikamaru.”</p><p>“And why are you here?” Sai asked without pause.</p><p>The boy’s—Shikamaru’s—lips curved. “To get another drink, of course.”</p><p>He faced forward and waved a hand nonchalantly, as though the effort even this required was somewhat distasteful to him. The smirking woman from earlier noticed the motion and drew closer.</p><p>“If it isn’t my favorite,” the woman purred, eyelashes fluttering.</p><p>Sai watched this with persisting confusion. The reason for this boy’s—Shikamaru’s—apparently pervasive appeal still escaped him.</p><p>“Mirai-san,” Shikamaru returned, nodding without making eye contact. He seemed suddenly distracted by a crack in his glass. “The same.” He handed the glass forward.</p><p>Mirai pouted and took the glass. “You know you can’t keep treating all us girls like this, right, Shikamaru? Is the Nara clan going to end with you?”</p><p>Shikamaru flashed his teeth in a convincing semblance of a smile. “You’re beginning to sound like my mother. You should know that’s <em>hardly</em> advancing the right agenda.”</p><p>That was undoubtedly an insult. Yet, Mirai received it with surprisingly good humor. She rolled her eyes. “Watching the scene over there was like watching a dog get kicked. Put that dear girl out of her misery.”</p><p>The boy’s smile widened, but Sai felt that it has suddenly become…sharp. Was it real? Fake? It annoyed him that he could not tell.</p><p>“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”</p><p>Even more puzzling—Shikamaru was clearly a fellow novice at social interaction. Why was he so sought after? “You may wish to take some lessons in understanding social cues,” Sai offered. “If you want, there are some helpful books I can suggest.”</p><p>Mirai covered her mouth behind the bar. Sai did not know why.</p><p>Shikamaru’s gaze slid to him leisurely.</p><p>“The girl across from you was peacocking,” Sai explained patiently. “She was repeatedly displacing her hair and laughing excessively. Her pupils were dilated as well. I don’t know how you could have possibly misunderstood. Are you generally obtuse?”</p><p>Mirai burst into laughter.</p><p>“Pea-cock-ing,” Shikamaru said slowly, leaning back in his chair.</p><p>The pout returned to the bartender’s face. “Maybe this one does have a point. You’re being deliberately obtuse, Shikamaru.”</p><p>The boy’s face cat-like eyes flashed. “What a pain.”</p><p>Mirai’s pout grew more pronounced. “What she feels is—”</p><p>“Troublesome,” Shikamaru cut her off. “She’s like an actual serial killer when she’s horny. I’m just the latest victim, the closest person with a penis she hasn’t tried yet, so she fancies herself infatuated with me.”</p><p>“Actually,” Sai interrupted, “I believe that that is natural, not a demonstration of psychopathic behavior as you seem to be suggesting. I’ve read that it is quite advantageous to choose a long-term partner that is sexually compatible; this would seem to require some sampling, of course, to make such a determination.”</p><p>Shikamaru leaned forward. The bitter-sweet smell of the alcohol followed him. “Well,” the boy drawled, getting uncomfortably close to Sai’s face (even in Sai’s perception), “then it makes sense that I don’t fuck what I’m uninterested in permanently tying myself to, right?”</p><p>“Ah!” Mirai cried triumphantly, slamming down the cup for the customer beside them with this statement. The customer jumped in his seat, looking alarmed. She pointed an accusing finger at Shikamaru. “You know what I think? I think you’re <em>scared </em>of women.”</p><p>The boy had propped his elbow against the counter and leaned his face into his hand; after a delayed moment, he shifted his gaze from Sai to the bartender “If you’re asking whether it is the utmost priority of my life to avoid entanglements with them,” Shikamaru said coolly, “then—yes.”</p><p>“<em>Why</em>?” Mirai demanded.</p><p>“In my experience, women are overly emotional,” Shikamaru answered immediately, tone unbothered. “They are prone to bouts of irrationality I cannot comprehend. To try to understand them is a futile endeavor—it would mean engaging in a path wrought with inconvenience and conflict.”</p><p>The bartender looked at him silence for a moment, lips pursed.</p><p>Then she placed Shikamaru’s filled glass in front of him stiffly. “People may call you terrifyingly smart, Nara-san. You probably have all the best scrolls in the world in those clan grounds of yours—generations of money and knowledge passed down as well. I certainly didn’t have that upbringing, you can be sure of that.”</p><p>Shikamaru inclined his head.</p><p>“So you really do have no excuse for your instances of stupidity,” she finished, flipping her hair with a sniff. She turned to Sai now. “And you?” </p><p>“What about me?” Sai responded with a smile.</p><p>“Well, while we’re at it, cutie,” she said, flashing a pretty grin again. It looked vaguely dangerous. “Do <em>you </em>have anything to add to the matter?”</p><p>Sai blinked. Words-wise, that had been a question. But it had been delivered in the tone of a threat. How…puzzling.</p><p>“Are you asking for my commentary on his thoughts?” he clarified.</p><p>“Sure,” Mirai returned. “And if I like the answer, you get to walk without paying.”</p><p>That seemed fairly promising. All he had to do was give the right answer. Sadly, Sai genuinely did not know what the ‘right answer’ meant to Mirai. He only had his own thoughts to rely on.</p><p>“Well,” he began slowly, smiling all the way through, “I disagree with this Shikamaru-san on almost all counts.”</p><p>For the second time that night, Shikamaru’s cat-like eyes snapped to his with incredible speed. The black of his irises, Sai noticed distantly, were indiscernible from those of his pupils.</p><p>“Promising start,” he thought he heard the bartender say under her breath.</p><p>“Oh?” Shikamaru prompted, face unreadable.</p><p>“Yes,” Sai said, smiling still. “In my experience, I have observed very emotional persons possessing penises. My teammate, Naruto, for example. Initially, I too believed his emotions led him to act irrationally; now, however, I understand that there is compelling reasoning to his strongest emotional outbursts. In summary: I do not believe emotions correlate with irrationality. Additionally, my female teammate, Sakura, is generally very quiet during training and missions—this also is contrary to your statements.”</p><p>He watched as Shikamaru’s eyebrow arched at this last statement.</p><p>“I should also say that I disagree vehemently with your methodology,” Sai continued evenly. “You’ve decided, from what seems to be obvious, incomplete sampling and observation, that females are ‘inherently’ incomprehensible to you. I have clearly done more diverse sampling and careful observation—I have found that most if not all individuals, regardless of gender, are completely incomprehensible to me without concerted effort to understand them. I have resolved myself, therefore, to trying to understand them. With this resolve, I have in fact made progress and learned a considerable amount. I would suggest you attempt to do the same.”</p><p>The bartender was staring at him, lips slightly open.</p><p>Sai turned to smile at her. “Respectfully, Mirai-san, I must disagree with you on one point, even if I must pay for my alcohol as a result. I do not think Shikamaru-san is as smart as you suggest. The gaps in his logic do not seem to be instances of rare oversight, but rather, founded from structural issues with his way of processing information—”</p><p>“Ah,” Shikamaru cut in lowly, taking a sip from his glass. His gaze was oddly bright. “Have I been found out?”</p><p>Despite the lengthiness and breadth of Sai’s answer, Mirai looked confused. “It <em>is </em>too<em>…</em>simplistic. It makes no…”—suddenly, her eyes widened—“Wait a second.”</p><p>Sai was not following her thought process, so he returned to his drink.</p><p>“You don’t actually believe any of it, do you?” Mirai guessed, sounding exasperated.</p><p>Sai stilled now, the rim of the cup an inch away from his lips. Was she suggesting that they had not been having a debate in good faith?</p><p>“And it was working so well,” Shikamaru said boredly. “What a pain.” It seemed to be a phrase he used often.</p><p>“It did,” the bartender agreed, sounding impressed despite herself. “I went <em>completely </em>dry down there.”</p><p>“Is that medically possible?” Sai inquired politely, trying to move past his annoyance. It couldn’t serve him now, after all. But—<em>why</em> did people never say what they meant?</p><p>Mirai didn’t answer, turning her attention back to Shikamaru. Suspicion made her mouth purse again. “You know, I did hear once that you refused to fight a girl to the end in your chunin competition.”</p><p>“If I’ve ever refused to hit a girl,” the boy drawled, “it was for the same reason I have ever refused to hit anyone else. First, it probably required too much effort. Second, I was probably likely to receive uncomfortable injuries in that effort. My mind has always been the tool that is going win real battles; not my body. Accordingly, I don’t see the point in putting my limbs through that kind of trial by fire.”</p><p>“You pretend to be a sexist to ward off unwanted romantic advances,” Sai concluded blankly. So, he had wasted his breath after all. How…inefficient.</p><p>Shikamaru nodded. After a moment, he added wryly, “And sometimes, to goad female opponents.”</p><p>“Fine,” Mirai said, resting her hands on her ample hips. “But tell me this—what’s wrong with Ino-chan? She’s a sweet girl. And she’s your age.”</p><p>“She is also beautiful,” Sai added distractedly, still frowning.</p><p>Shikamaru’s eyes seemed to bore into him especially penetratingly now. “You think so?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>He seemed oddly intent. “For what reasons?”</p><p>“That is,” Sai began reluctantly (was this a false debate too?), “she has features that are commonly praised in the texts I have read.” Then, he listed: “Small nose, full lips, unblemished skin, long, richly colored hair…”</p><p>Shikamaru took a careful sip from his glass. When he spoke again, his lips brushed the glass. “Perhaps,”—he rested his cheek leisurely into the palm of his hand again—“the question I meant to ask is: do <em>you</em> find her to be beautiful?”</p><p>Sai paused, brows furrowing. “I do not know what it means to find someone beautiful.”</p><p>He had never considered that, before. Maybe…</p><p>Maybe, this had something to do with what was wrong with him—with what made him different. And naturally, having just witnessed a sexual act he himself could not reproduce with comparable pleasure, Sai’s mind went there first.</p><p>Was Sai unable to enjoy sex with other people because he had not until now found them…beautiful? What did it mean to <em>find</em> someone beautiful? Was that the same thing for every person? Was it the same for <em>Sai </em>as it was for other people?</p><p>Some of his confusion must have shown on his face, because Shikamaru’s lips curled.</p><p>“For me,” the boy said simply, “I find it in a glance.”</p><p>“I don’t…understand what that means.”</p><p>“If that glance compels me,” Shikamaru said lazily, eyes dark like pools of ink, “if it draws me in. If the words that follow are ones so earnest I can’t put up a pretense before them. Then—I cannot look away.”</p><p>Sai’s limbs felt oddly heavy where he sat. If he hadn’t known better, he would thought he had been drugged.</p><p>“Compels you,” he latched onto with difficulty. “I must examine, then, what compels me?”</p><p>Shikamaru hummed. His eyelashes, Sai thought to himself, looked like strokes of ink as well.</p><p>“I like to paint,” Sai said. “I like only to paint certain things—those that compel me. So is what I want to paint what I find beautiful?”</p><p>“What would you like to paint?” Shikamaru asked.</p><p>The alcohol must have gotten to him, he theorized. What was this odd feeling? A sort of reluctance… Shame? No. Embarrassment? But Sai had never felt embarrassed before.</p><p>“Beasts, birds, rivers, mountains—” <em>his brother</em> –"and…”</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“Your eyes,” his mouth said quite directly. “I think I would like to paint your eyes.”</p><p>Shikamaru was silent for a moment. Then, he let out a breath of air and looked up at the ceiling. “Do you look at everyone like that?”</p><p>“Like what?”</p><p>A second later, there was a hand—firm, unabashed—lifting his chin up. “I can’t find a word for it,” Shikamaru said, smiling to himself as though amused by a private joke. “Irreverent?”</p><p>“Ah,” Sai said, wondering if he had angered the other boy. Smiles could be lies, after all. “If I have upset you—”</p><p>Shikamaru closed the distance between them. Sai watched his progress without comprehension.</p><p>It would have been an exaggeration to say their lips met; when the distance became the breath between molecules, the contact was unfailingly soft. Despite the strong grip of the hand that had curved to the side of his face, the kiss was terribly gentle, the gentlest he’d ever been given—it was almost unbearable, like being presented with a sweet, but being only allowed to just glance it with your tongue.</p><p>And yet—even in that brief, ephemeral brush of lips—the slightest taste of bitter-sweetness was imprinted, like the slightest trace of paint from a brush onto a canvas.</p><p>Sai drew back, blinking slowly. His tongue flicked out, unthinkingly, to follow the curve of his own lip. Shikamaru traced the motion with a dark gaze.</p><p>“Does that answer your question, Mirai-san?” the boy asked uncaringly.</p><p>Without waiting for an answer, he drew closer again. Sai watched him with calmly this time. When the other boy took too long, he tilted his head up in silent demand. For the sake of observation, of course, he was obligated to put himself through this again.</p><p>(So what if he wondered, suddenly: if <em>this</em> boy held him, would he achieve what the man against the wall had?)</p><p>“Yes,” the woman said very belatedly, sounding dazed. “That, ah, explains quite a bit.”</p><p>Neither ended up paying for their drinks.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Disclaimer: Neither image is mine! Shikamaru I found <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/581879214348886450/">here</a> and Sai I found <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/822469950668671146/">here</a></p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Academy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Pairing: Itachi/Iruka (suggested)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It’s so slippery,” the girl with pink ribbons grunted. “Why is this so hard?”</p><p>Itachi stared straight ahead. “Polishing any skill necessitates time and concerted effort.”</p><p>“…you use a lot of complicated words, Mr. Itachi.”</p><p>At this moment, the boy with the tell-tale marks of the Inuzuka lost his temper and launched himself at the girl he had been squabbling with. Fifteen seconds. Even less time than Itachi had calculated.</p><p>“Wait!” the girl—Imori, he reminded himself—cried as he began to move. “I’m almost done! Just need to tie it and…”</p><p>Itachi stood.</p><p>“Hey!” Imori shouted, outraged. “What did you do that for?”</p><p>“One braid was your condition to stop antagonizing—” he couldn’t remember the name, so he pointed at the girl currently glowering from the swings—“that one. The terms of our verbal contract were satisfied.”</p><p>“Huh? I didn’t do any ant-no-geez-ing,” the girl sniffed. Her face turned up suspiciously a second later. “What’s that mean?”</p><p>Round eyes the color of cement examined with him with brewing resentment—but, curiously, still absent of fear. He had slit grown men’s throats at her age; his name had already been in the bingo book. And yet, this girl didn’t seem to know him from the nidaime.</p><p>His name must have fallen out of conversation over the years. It seemed only the adults now remembered, and even they seemed overeager to forget now that his innocence had officially been declared. How else could he have been assigned to the academy while his body recuperated?</p><p>He walked over to the bickering pair and lifted the Inuzuka by the collar of his shirt. The boy, muddied and bleeding from the nose, didn’t take well to the intervention, growling and swiping at him.</p><p>As Itachi calmly stretched his arm so the boy’s fists were out of reach, a slight hissing sound reached his ears. He tilted his head to the side. A kunai flew past and landed with a loud thud in the tree five meters ahead.</p><p>Itachi turned his head slowly in the direction the kunai had originated from. A round-faced child with missing teeth gave him a sheepish grin.</p><p>“Ah, sorry about that Itachi-san. Just trying to get some extra practice in before Iruka-sensei tests us later today!”</p><p>“Weapons are not allowed during recess.”</p><p>“<em>Let go</em>,” Inuzuka yipped like a puppy, face twisting, “Did you hear me?!”</p><p>“Aw, see, I know that. And <em>normally</em>, I totally wouldn’t have brought them outside. But, see, like I was saying, Iruka-sensei said there’s a test and—”</p><p>“Weapons are not allowed during recess.”</p><p>“<em>I HATE YOU!</em>” the boy in his hand roared, veins bulging in his neck with the effort.</p><p>Itachi dropped him.</p><p>“Ugh, finally,” Inuzuka huffed, scowling. He stuck out his tongue and turned on his heel.</p><p>Itachi slowly retracted his hand, observing it in cool examination. He hadn’t intended to let go.</p><p>“All right,” a tenor voice called out from the building—it was a voice that had not been built for volume, Itachi reflected, but must have learned it over the years—“Let’s pack it up. Break time is over!”</p><p>The children rushed by him in a cacophony of groans, tracking dirt into the Academy building.</p><p>“Thank you for watching them,” Iruka said, smiling. The skin beneath his eyes wrinkled.</p><p>“It was the task that was assigned to me.”</p><p>“Ah, yes. I suppose it was. Still,” the Academy instructor insisted, voice warm.</p><p>Itachi stepped into the building and followed Iruka back into the classroom. Small bodies hastily arranged themselves back into their seats at the sight of their teacher.</p><p>“Did you give Itachi-san a hard time?” Iruka asked sternly, arms crossed.</p><p>“No,” the class chorused. Muffled giggles emerged among the seats.</p><p>Iruka turned sharply to him, brown eyes unusually steely. “Do you have anything to say to that, Itachi-san?” he asked quietly.</p><p>Itachi’s head cocked to the side.</p><p>Iruka waited.</p><p>“No,” Itachi said shortly. “I had everything in hand. They were fine.”</p><p>“I see.”</p><p>Iruka stepped forward and moved onto another topic—a history lesson, Itachi catalogued in the back of his mind. And yet, those two short words, the manner in which they had been delivered, were stuck in his mind. Iruka had seemed disappointed, as though Itachi’s feedback had been less than satisfactory.</p><p>Itachi’s eyes narrowed as he gazed over the class. Had Iruka wanted him to struggle? Why convince the hokage, then, to give him this position in the first place? The academy instructor and he had met briefly in the hospital when he had been recovering; it could hardly have been called a conversation, more of an accidental encounter, what had transpired between them. He knew that Iruka had advocated for him to be here; he still had no understanding of why.</p><p>On paper, Itachi acknowledged, his skills and battle experience were top of the line. But that didn’t excuse the unspeakable crimes he had committed, even if they had been in the name of Konoha. What parent would want an undisputed mass murderer teaching their child to handle a kunai?</p><p>“Break out into groups of three and discuss,” Iruka commanded. “In the last ten minutes, we’ll rejoin and one person from each group will summarize what you each discussed.”</p><p>Brief bickering broke out as the class arranged itself into smaller groups. Iruka walked away from the chalkboard toward the back corner of the room where Itachi stood.</p><p>“Next time, I would suggest that corner instead,” Iruka said lightly, pointing. “Hyuuga Ryoichi likes to sneak out when my back is turned.”</p><p>Itachi’s gaze moved to the black-haired boy who, even now, was darting evaluating looks back at them and then at the door.</p><p>“Noted,” Itachi said tonelessly.</p><p>He felt Iruka’s eyes burning into him from the side.</p><p>“Have you been enjoying your first day at the Academy?” the brown-skinned man asked. His voice was still warm, like they were friends. It was unwarranted.</p><p>“It’s better than other roles I’ve been assigned in the past,” Itachi said finally.</p><p>Instead of being discomfited, a low, surprised chuckle broke out from the figure beside him. “I wouldn’t dare contest that,” Iruka admitted easily.</p><p>“Do you enjoy your job here, Iruka-san?” Itachi asked disinterestedly.</p><p>Iruka’s brow furrowed in consideration, as though he had never received this question before and it required careful forethought. Itachi imagined this was implausible.</p><p>“In full disclosure,” Iruka said smiling. “Most days don’t go without a moment where I want to strangle their scrawny little necks. Somehow, miraculously, I manage to hold myself back.”</p><p>Itachi stared ahead.</p><p>“Really,” Iruka insisted. “But, you know, every now and then, there’s a redeeming moment. Inuzuka-kun, yesterday, remembering the name of the shodaime. Or when Nanami finally managed to land the kunai at the bull’s eye mark last week. They pretend they don’t listen—well, most of them time, they’re really not listening. But…ah, I’m not explaining this well. It sounds cheesy when I mention it like that, doesn’t it?”</p><p>Itachi didn’t indicate either way. “And you believe it’s all worth it,” he asked clinically. “Whatever lessons you impart to them.”</p><p>Iruka raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”</p><p>Itachi surveyed him. “That Hyuuga will likely be cannon fodder for whatever clan dispute rises within the next five years—” he turned to scan the classroom—“That girl there, as another example, has skills that will only thrive in T&amp;I, but her foreign background will hold her back from ever getting hired in the department. And that boy—given his fervent determination to be a combat shinobi, I would give him two years before he is crippled or killed in action.”</p><p>“And what,” Iruka said carefully, coldly, “would be your basis for that?”</p><p>He had angered the other man.</p><p>“His mentality,” Itachi responded evenly.</p><p>“A lot can change between now and their graduation.”</p><p>“Perhaps,” Itachi acknowledged, inclining his head. “In my experience, desired change—especially when systemic—rarely occurs soon enough.”</p><p>He waited for the explosion. Iruka, he had learned from eavesdropping on the children, had an infamously loud temper. Contrarily, however, the man across for him seemed to be immeasurably calm.</p><p>“How many years did you spend in the Academy, Itachi-san?” Iruka asked.</p><p>“Four months.”</p><p>“So your experience comprises four months in the Academy,” the instructor summarized, nodding. “And your teachers? Do you remember them?”</p><p>“Not in particular.”</p><p>Iruka turned to look at him directly in the eyes, voice hard like iron. “Then they failed you.”</p><p>Itachi’s eyes narrowed.</p><p>The man next to him straightened, somehow seeming larger than before, although he was almost a hand’s span shorter than Itachi and slighter. “You’re right,” he said. “I can’t change decades of clan tradition. I can’t change what does or doesn’t happen at home. Sometimes, what I do in class is enough to shift their priorities; forgive my saying, but my experience is a little more considerable in this area. Then again, sometimes it isn’t enough. I can’t make every child want to practice, and I certainly can’t force every child to learn anything they don’t want to learn, no matter how much I might want them to. They pass the test, and I have to let them go. Those are the rules.”</p><p>He turned toward the class, gaze grim.</p><p>“But,” Iruka said softly. “I can care for them. I can nurture them—subject them to my attention until they’re suffocating, begging me to leave this Academy. And in doing that, I can teach them that they <em>matter</em>,” Iruka’s voice, so soft, grew harsh, “because once they leave, they might never meet an adult who will give them that ever again. And maybe they shouldn’t; the battlefield isn’t a place to be treated like a child or coddled. But here, for at least while...”</p><p>He panted raggedly for a moment, the force of his passion for this subject apparently having taken some of his breath away.</p><p>“It’s all I can give,” Iruka revealed, voice calming into something like cynicism. It seemed at odds with him; Itachi was, possibly, unnerved. “And, many times, it <em>isn’t</em> enough. Sometimes, they die. Or they leave, like your brother.”</p><p>Itachi’s body stiffened slightly at the mention of his brother. Somehow, Iruka seemed to catch it.</p><p>“And sometimes, they come back,” he said, gently. He paused for a little, before saying in an obviously, deliberately conversational tone, “I had heard from Naruto that the team is now functioning reasonably well. I know this is private—forgive a teacher’s overbearing nature—but how are things at home?”</p><p>“You’re right,” Itachi said, bowing his head expressionlessly. “You are overstepping.”</p><p>Iruka immediately nodded, without malice. “Of course. Apologies.”</p><p>Silence lapsed again between them. Itachi stared straight ahead, still, but now saw nothing.</p><p>“We don’t talk,” he found himself saying.</p><p>Iruka was quiet.</p><p>“It is to my taste,” Itachi recovered, expression smoothing. “We coexist peacefully and without any unnecessary distractions.”</p><p>One of the girls on the right side of the classroom began tugging at the ponytail of another. Iruka pulled an eraser from his pocket and tossed it through the air. It hit the girl right at the nape of her neck. Her hand rose a second later to cover the spot.</p><p>“Ow, sensei!” she scowled. “Got it, got it.”</p><p>Iruka gave a pleased smile. He turned a second later to Itachi. He hummed for a moment, still smiling.</p><p>“You know, even when Sasuke didn’t know the truth, even when you were the brother who had murdered his whole clan, part of him still worshipped you—” Iruka’s eyes crinkled—"I’d go as far as to say that he loved you nearly as much as he hated you.”</p><p>Itachi’s mouth tightened.</p><p>“I think it will only be a matter of time,” the academy instructor said sincerely<em>. </em></p><p>He knew nothing, though, of what Itachi had done. Iruka saw a fellow man in front of him, when that couldn’t have been further from the truth.</p><p>A dark churning sensation was born in his chest—but it wasn’t unfamiliar, not these days, at least. He still didn’t know how to shield himself against it. It overcame him and left him lost at sea.</p><p>“I tortured him,” he found himself relaying, tone factual. He heard his voice as someone else’s in his ears. “After seeing the dead bodies of our clan members and the dead bodies of our parents, I made Sasuke relive it for three days, helpless to do anything to stop me.”</p><p><em>So that he would kill me for what I had done</em>.</p><p>He barely finished the thought before he felt his breathing start to rise in his chest, faster, harsher. But Itachi managed his body meticulously, asserting his unbending will once more, making the loss of control imperceptible to the human eye.</p><p>His insides hurt, like there were nails scraping against the walls of his chest, but no one would know. It was a kind of pain he was used to. He had fought through worse.</p><p>“Has your impression of me changed, sensei?” Itachi asked coldly.</p><p>“I think,” Iruka started softly.</p><p>Something like satisfaction, neither warm nor triumphant, settled in his chest.</p><p>“Despite your obvious talent, I think that if I had been your teacher…I would have pushed you to become anything but a combat shinobi.”</p><p>The teacher’s eyes paused on his hands, for some undiscernible reason. Itachi ‘s gaze flicked downwards as well.</p><p>“I think, Itachi-san,” Iruka said, voice stronger now, eyes molten like bronze ore, “that you care far more than maybe anyone has ever given you credit for.”</p><p>A chair screeched against the floor. Itachi did nothing for a moment. His mouth parted, but he paused before he spoke.</p><p>“Imagining me this way no doubt makes my actions more palatable,” he said, unblinking. “Sometimes, however, there merely exists a shinobi and an order. And to have feelings about an order, when that order serves a higher purpose than any one individual, would be unproductive.”</p><p>Iruka’s mouth firmed in challenge. “Then why is Sasuke alive?”</p><p>And this was— It was. Nothing less than a blow, unanticipated and thus unmitigated.</p><p>This small, slight man in front of him—to the practiced eye weak, vulnerable. Something had whittled him over time it seemed, silently, secretly, and rendered him sharper and shrewder than he had any right to be--maybe his teaching, possibly his unprecedented proximity to more than one hokage. Or maybe, it was something entirely else, unknowable to him.</p><p>Whatever it was, Itachi watched now, warier.</p><p>Iruka smiled, unapologetic.</p><p>The bell rang, shrill and loud. Cheers rose from the class. Without pause, the teacher turned back toward his class.</p><p>“Ah, look at that. Sensei lost track of time, apologies,” Iruka said, smiling at them. “We’ll shift the discussion to tomorrow. Have a good day, everyone!”</p><p>The noise of chairs being scooted back and satchels being opened and closed filled the room. One pair of feet, in bright yellow sandals, stopped right in front of them.</p><p>“Yes, Imori-chan?” Iruka asked.</p><p>The girl who had negotiated with him earlier raised her hand and glared at Itachi. “You. Yeah, I’m talking to you. Next time,” she warned, “I’ll make two braids with red ribbons on each end. And I’ll make you wear them for the rest of the day<em>.</em>”</p><p>She turned on her heels and flounced away.</p><p>“Also, another observation, if I may,” Iruka said, mouth curving. “<em>That </em>is what happens when you tell the kids ‘they were fine.’”</p><p>Without another word, the smaller man moved past him to clean up the leftover scraps scattered along the rows of desks, humming as he went.</p><p>Itachi remained where he was, but his gaze followed...captive.</p>
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</p><p>Disclaimer: Image is not mine! By akemisakamaki12 (not sure what platform, but that was the username in the description)</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Mirage - Part I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>1) This is a soulmate au. I don't know how I got here.<br/>2) With the possible exception of the Sai/Shikamaru one-shot, this is one of the most niche pairings I've written<br/>3) As a possible result, I have no idea who will read this (lmao and rip)<br/>4) This kind of angst is the kind of shit I love to eat up; pls post any recs you might have that are similar<br/><br/>Pairing: Itachi / Naruto</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They’re only allowed half an hour of television per day at the orphanage. It’s definitely not worth the blood that drips from his nose or the way his ribs ache. But something has pushed him this particular day to fight—even against the older kids who tower over him—to get a spot in front of the television.</p><p>Of course, as Naruto’s luck runs, they spend the entire time on the penguin cartoon: the stupid, <em>boring </em>one without any fighting or villains at all.</p><p>At the thirty minute mark, one of the matrons steps forward to retrieve the remote. Her thumb presses down unforgivingly, even though the penguin mom is just about to read her children a story in the last minute of the show. And even though Naruto <em>hates </em>this stupid show, he’s ready to explode (what’s another smack across the face?) because this is the only part he’s had any interest in.</p><p>But the television changes to a news channel, indifferent to his or any of the children’s feelings, and the matron watches with interest.</p><p>“—chiha-sama, how do you explain your campaign’s success so far?”</p><p>A girl behind him whines. Naruto blows air out of his mouth, overgrown hair flopping away from his forehead, scowling as he turns his head away. <em>Chiha? </em>Stupid name. Stupid penguins.</p><p>“My record speaks for itself.”</p><p>“Speaking of your decades-long, impressive stint as a prosecutor—what motivated your decision to leave the prosecutors’ office and enter politics?”</p><p>One of the younger boys, smaller than even Naruto (there aren’t many who are in the orphanage), starts crying. The noise is thin but sharp, cutting through the air. It drowns out the chatter from the television.</p><p>“<em>Quiet</em>,” the matron hisses. She’s so terrifying as she glares, that the boy goes abruptly silent, hiccupping pitifully.</p><p>The woman’s voice filters back into their ears. “And this is your elder son you have beside you, right?”</p><p>“Yes, Itachi.”</p><p>Naruto stiffens. His eyes fly to the television.</p><p>“Nine, correct?” the woman observes, eyes shining. “Exceptionally young to follow his father on the campaign trail.”</p><p>“Itachi is mature for his age.”</p><p>“So we have heard! In an earlier segment, my colleague reported that he placed first in the international competition in—”</p><p>The screen sputters then goes black. Naruto turns, aghast, to find that the head matron has grabbed the remote and turned the television off.</p><p>“Get off the floor,” she says impatiently. She shoots her colleague a venomous look. “We don’t have the money to be wasting electricity like this.”</p><p>But Naruto doesn’t want to leave. He turns back to the television, grubby fingers scrabbling at the screen, trying to make the image imprinted there before come back.</p><p>“Get off!” the matron shrieks, yanking him back. “That television is worth more than your worthless head will make your whole life.”</p><p>Naruto feels himself being dragged back, feels his collar tightening around his neck, halting his breath. He starts to feel a little-headed, but he doesn’t stop fighting, heels scuffing the floor futilely.</p><p>“<em>LET ME GO!</em>”</p><p>It makes no difference. He’s too small.</p><p>Later that night, as he lays down on his pallet crammed between two other children beneath the ancient heating unit that no longer works but creaks as if still in its death thralls, Naruto traces the name inscribed along his ribcage.</p><p>
  <em>Uchiha Itachi.</em>
</p><p>A pale boy with hair as black as the tar Naruto sits on during their outside play time. Eyes darker than even that. His stomach warms and he buries his face in his hands, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.</p><p>He wonders if Uchiha Itachi also has Naruto’s name on his body.</p><p>His body brims with excitement at the thought. He receives a sharp elbow from the boy next to him as reward. Wincing, Naruto forces himself to settle. It doesn’t always happen like that, he reminds himself. Sometimes, only one person has the name. Sometimes, only one person has to do all the searching.</p><p>If he has to search all by himself…</p><p>The smile on his face falters.</p><p>Why hadn’t he paid more attention to what the television had been showing, Naruto wonders now with sudden panic. Was that where Itachi lived? Why hadn’t he looked at the street names behind them?</p><p>He flounders for a moment in silence.</p><p>He couldn’t have messed it all up already. He couldn't have, Naruto thinks, and repeats the thought to himself again for assurance.</p><p>(Why else would the world have made a whole person for him?)</p><p>His mouth firms.</p><p>Even if he has to shout his way to the other side of the world to reach this Uchiha Itachi, Naruto will do it. In seconds, he falls asleep.</p>
<hr/><p>Years pass by in the orphanage. Naruto grows like a reed, with dirt underneath his fingernails and hardening muscle along wiry limbs. The bigger kids are still much bigger than him, but he’s gotten wilier, sneakier. He wins more fights than he loses these days.</p><p>A short, squat man with a thick moustache comes in one day and says they all have to take an exam. Naruto complains loudly and gets a book across the face for his efforts. In the end, like the others, he is forced to take the exam.</p><p>He has trouble sitting still, eyes darting longingly to the window.</p><p>Some of the questions ring a bell—dull and sonorous—in the back of his head. There’s a new matron, young, with soft hands (she doesn’t hit nearly as hard as the others), who makes them sit through ‘lessons.’ None of the kids pay much attention, certainly not Naruto…but there’s something about her pleading voice that makes him feel bad sometimes. Sometimes, though he pretends not to, he finds himself listening.</p><p>Most of the questions, though, Naruto has no clue about. For those, he scribbles down some curse words he’s learned. </p><p>A timer goes off after an hour, and the man steps forward to collect their papers. He pauses at Naruto’s and raises his eyebrows.</p><p>A letter comes back the next day saying that he’s gotten the highest score out of all the kids. Naruto furrows his brows as they show him the letter, wondering if they had mixed his test up with someone else’s. From what most of the matrons always said, he had gathered he was probably useless in the brains department.</p><p>And yet, mistake or not, the letter has been sent to him. He’s invited to become a student at Konoha.</p><p>It’s his choice, the matrons tell him snappishly. They don’t look pleased by the news that he's made it miraculously into one of the top schools in the country. They make sure to explain to him that he’s only been invited because of Konoha’s new efforts to “diversify.”</p><p>They look at him, and he knows that they think he doesn’t deserve it. He…doesn’t entirely fault them.</p><p>The boy on that television screen had been so untouchable—so far above Naruto. The idea of anyone decent or respectable—of <em>Uchiha Itachi</em>—holding an interest in a mouthy boy from an orphanage is ludicrous. The universe had probably made a mistake, matching two people so far apart that an entire solar system could have existed between them.</p><p>But Naruto can…try. And if he tries hard enough, he thinks fiercely, Itachi might never notice.</p><p>Naruto might be nothing now, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t determined to become <em>something. </em></p><p>He attends the school.</p>
<hr/><p>Naruto meets Sasuke his third day at Konoha, which turns out, perhaps not unexpectedly, to be a school populated by the prissy and pretentious.</p><p>Until this point, he’s been lambasted with unimaginative digs at his second-hand uniform and tattered backpack—hardly anything to raise a fist for. There are other scholarship kids there like him because of the diversity initiative, and they catch some of it too. But Naruto, for some reason, becomes the focal point of their ire. He’s confused but not entirely surprised. It always just seems to…happen to him. There are kids at the orphanage that the matrons like, Naruto has just never been one of them.</p><p>For that matter, his classmates’ insults are far less brutal than the bread and butter he’s been raised on by the matrons.</p><p>If there is a loss, maybe, it’s that all the other scholarship kids avoid him.</p><p>But Naruto grits his teeth and moves on. He grits his teeth and moves on when someone dumps a bucket of mop water on him. He grits his teeth and moves on even when someone scribbles words like ‘pussy’ and ‘filth’ all over the first textbooks he’s owned in his entire life.</p><p>There’s no reason a foul while he has possession of the ball during physical education should be something he can’t move past, after all that, but Naruto takes one look at the arrogant bastard who’s fucking fouled him with absolutely no remorse on his face, and he—</p><p>He launches himself at the other boy and forgets about the ball entirely.</p><p>Naruto has never considered himself to be one to underestimate his opponents, having been underestimated in scraps most of his life, but he quickly finds that he has formed certain assumptions after three days of surveying the kind of creatures that make up Konoha’s animal kingdom. The boys he has seen are bulky, there’s no doubt, raised on the best meat and with the best athletic coaches, but they have all the wrong instincts. He’s seen one or two petty squabbles that had teachers raising their voices in concern and made <em>him</em> raise his eyebrows and scoff.</p><p>So as he launches himself at this duck-haired bastard, Naruto expects to find similarly pathetic retaliation.</p><p>Instead, he ends up with bruised ribs, a split lip, and a black eye; his only consolation is that the other boy does as well.</p><p>...</p><p>It doesn’t get better after that.</p><p>In fact, for the next three years, Naruto and Sasuke duke it out over (admittedly) stupid, often painfully contrived, reasons. But he doesn’t…mind. He injures more body parts than he cares to count, but he’s always healed fast.</p><p>More than that, none of these encounters leave the same sour taste in his mouth as getting mop water poured on him had. For one, Sasuke’s attacks are never anything less than straightforward, never underhanded or orchestrated through other agents (and Naruto knows that this would be more than possible, because the rest of the school worships him).</p><p>It’s almost… It makes him feel less lonely at Konoha, possibly. If there’s nothing else he can rely on, then he can at least believe that Sasuke will always punch him back, even in the middle of a calculus exam.</p><p>Somehow, Naruto gets in trouble but Sasuke never does. It disturbs him a lot in the beginning; eventually, he stops thinking about it, merely tacking it to the long list of injustices that simply are in the world. He does wonder, time and time again, about the kind of bigshot family the bastard must come from for the whole school to worship him and for the administration to fear reprimanding him.</p><p>To their credit, however, the administration do their admitted best to keep Sasuke and him apart. It’s only his third year at Konoha, that Naruto and Sasuke end up in a class together again.</p><p>It’s a perfect storm, in many ways. The teacher is a new-hire and also as oblivious as a deer in a burning forest for all the mind she pays to the slightly panicked faces across the classroom when she pairs them together for a group project.</p><p>This is how Naruto ends up at Sasuke’s house after school.</p>
<hr/><p>Only, Sasuke’s house is not a house at all, but an estate that spans acres and acres of flawlessly manicured land.</p><p>“Stop gawking,” Sasuke snaps.</p><p>Naruto tries to adjust his expression. They’ve just walked past a floor to ceiling depiction of the siege of Osaka in gold, and he knows his eyes are bulging out of his head.</p><p>“If I break something, you know, accidentally…”</p><p>“You pay with your head.”</p><p>“<em>Seriously</em>?” he exclaims, all pretense of calm obliterated. “But— money—?” He stops when he realizes that it wouldn’t exactly matter, because it’s not like he has any.</p><p>Sasuke might be slightly less of a bastard than Naruto pretends in his mind, because he doesn’t call attention to this point.</p><p>Instead, he rolls his eyes. “Just keep your hands at your sides, moron—”</p><p>“Who is our guest, Sasuke?”</p><p>It’s a lower voice than Sasuke’s, something near baritone but not quite there yet—not a fully grown adult’s. Still, there is an assurance and a natural command in it that has Naruto pausing instantly, a strange feeling in his stomach.</p><p>“Aniki,” Sasuke says, face shifting slightly. He turns around. “I didn’t realize you were home.”</p><p>Naruto turns as well.</p><p>He has sudden, inexplicable, difficulty breathing.</p><p>Every inch of the face he looks at is cut with unforgiving precision, each feature drawn to inhuman perfection. He is taller than them both, and there is a subtle breadth to his arms—hidden by the clothes he wears—that tells Naruto he is stronger than he lets most people think. In quaint contrast, his lashes spill over his eyes like delicate strokes of ink.</p><p>Baffled and breathless, Naruto realizes that his chest <em>aches </em>with looking at him.</p><p>“This is Naruto. We have a group project due tomorrow.”</p><p>“I see,” the older brother says after a pause. “A pleasure to meet you.”</p><p>And there’s nothing unusual about it at all; the greeting sounds perfectly friendly to his ears.</p><p>Except, those dark eyes weigh him in a particular way that makes Naruto certain he has heard his name before.</p><p>“We’ll just head on up,” Sasuke drawls.</p><p>“Why don’t you work down here?” the brother says, unperturbed. “Keep me company. I don’t see you often these days.”</p><p>“Sure,” Sasuke shrugs. “Oh, and Itachi, uncle called yesterday and was saying—”</p><p>Naruto doesn’t hear the rest. He casts a hand out blindly for support and narrowly misses some artwork.</p><p>His heart pounds in his ears.</p><p><em>Itachi</em>, the bastard had said.</p><p><em>Itachi, Itachi, Itachi, </em>Naruto’s heart thuds.</p><p>That boy with the pale, serious face and the dark hair and the darker eyes. That image he had seen on the television had been so firmly affixed in his mind, that he had almost forgotten that Itachi would look different the day he met him.</p><p>Uchiha Itachi.</p><p><em>Uchiha </em>Sasuke.</p><p>“Come on, dobe,” Sasuke says impatiently, yanking him to a long, narrow table off of the seemingly endless hallway.</p><p>Naruto cranes his head backward to make sure that Itachi follows.</p>
<hr/><p>As afternoon turns into evening, he is dimly aware of the fact that Sasuke and he are meant to be working on a <em>group </em>project. Sasuke certainly tries to remind him of this fact several times.</p><p>But Naruto can’t bring himself to focus, very much in the mires of what feels like a head-rushing, delirious daze. He isn’t entirely convinced he hasn’t hallucinated this whole creature in front of him up, just from sheer want<em>.</em></p><p>“This is hopeless. I’m getting some tea,” Sasuke snarls, standing up, “and by the time I’m back, you’d better have sorted yourself out.”</p><p>He stalks away from them into the endless corridor.</p><p>“Uzumaki Naruto, correct?”</p><p>And Naruto’s head whips in his direction so fast, it fucking <em>hurts</em>. Even that, however, can’t detract from the molten joy humming through his veins.</p><p>“Yes,” he answers belatedly, the word too rushed and too loud. He’s sure he looks a complete mess. He’s sure his face his bright red.</p><p>After all those nights despairing that they might just pass each other by in this lifetime, like two ships at sea…</p><p>Oh god, are his cheeks burning? Is this how they first meet? (Is this how they will tell this story after?)</p><p>“H-hi,” Naruto stammers, hand reaching forward desperately to—</p><p>“I’ve heard your name before.”</p><p>Naruto forces his gaze downward, hiding his expression. His teeth hurt with the force he exerts to clench down, to keep from making a fool of himself, but a grin threatens to split his face.</p><p>He’s— he knows Naruto’s name. So Itachi also must have his name on his body too. Itachi maybe even has been searching for <em>him </em>all these years too.</p><p>His fingers twitch, still outstretched toward the man molded to love him and for him to love—never possibly equally, but two-fold, triple-fold, infinity-fold (could anything match the love Naruto feels now, not yet for him, but for the mere idea of him?)—in return.</p><p>“You have?” he says softly, eyes lowering. He’s not shy by nature, but it hurts to <em>breathe </em>right now, how can he bear to look at him?</p><p>“I am Sasuke’s brother. All matters that concern him concern me as well.”</p><p>Naruto’s head jerks up. This isn’t the response he had expected to hear, he thinks. But also he can’t even think straight right now.</p><p>“Oh,” he murmurs, wetting his mouth. “Has he mentioned me to you—?”</p><p>“I saw the injuries you left on him.”</p><p>No. This, he is certain now, is not at all what he had expected.</p><p>Because this is said so evenly, so coldly, that every single ounce of blood in Naruto’s body chills too. His hand drops without thought.</p><p>He’s suddenly, painfully sober to reality.</p><p>“Oh,” Naruto says again, like an idiot. He blinks and scrambles for words. “I mean,—”</p><p>“He wouldn’t tell me your name,” Itachi informs him, face not revealing an ounce of emotion.<br/>
“Sasuke’s not an adult yet, but close enough that I allowed him his privacy that first time. But not again. I looked into the matter, and I heard your name--every time.”</p><p>Naruto shakes his head, disoriented. His vision swims for a second.</p><p>“We—” Naruto starts, face paling. He tries again. “I’m not—” <em>Itachi</em>, his mouth burns—“Uchiha-san, those fights—”</p><p>“You don’t owe me an explanation,” Itachi says tonelessly, and Naruto’s stammering halts abruptly. “To be frank, any excuse you use won’t matter.”</p><p>Naruto stares, silent.</p><p>“I am someone who holds the law in the highest regard,” Itachi says lightly. “I plan, moreover, to practice it in the highest court of this country. But if I find another mark on Sasuke’s body, so much as a single scratch, you will find that the law no longer matters so much to me. Do we have an understanding?”</p><p>The letters on his ribcage burn through his clothing.</p><p>And for one brief, mad moment, Naruto considers telling him.</p><p>If he were to pull his shirt up now and show him irrefutable proof of their connection, would he listen? Would he understand then that it’s simply— That Naruto isn’t some sort of bully, he’s never meant any <em>harm</em>…?</p><p>He stares hard at the table, fighting for composure. His brow furrows as his mind stumbles across thoughts.</p><p>“Understood?” Itachi presses, icy now.</p><p>What on earth would his soulmate think, in this moment, if he were to learn that he is attached to Naruto? His stomach sickens. Not now. Not yet.</p><p>Naruto’s mouth parts. He bows his head.</p><p>He cannot tell him.</p><p>“Understood,” he says, almost soundless.</p>
<hr/><p>It’s not the last time he comes to the Uchiha estate. In fact, it’s far from the last.</p><p>Apparently, their new history teacher had made these project pairings intending them to last throughout the year. Almost twice a week, therefore, Naruto finds himself skulking around the Uchiha’s abode—much like a beaten dog, wary of its master’s temperament towards it—under Itachi’s cool, distant gaze.</p><p>The fights do stop, of course. They both do their fair share of goading, but Naruto is usually the first one to make their arguments physical; now, he pulls himself away when usually things would escalate.</p><p>Sasuke catches on pretty quickly.</p><p>It takes him a week to do something about it, though. They get into one of their usual arguments in the cafeteria—maybe, possibly, Naruto cuts a little ahead in the line, possibly right in front of the duck-haired bastard—but this time, as he walks away, a hand grabs his shoulder.</p><p>Naruto turns partially and sees a fist coming towards his face. He feels a small burst of surprise. Very rarely does Sasuke instigate their altercations. When it does happen, however, this is usually about when he ducks or tackles the bastard to the ground. Except that—</p><p>The fist lands solidly into his face. It’s not the worst punch of Naruto’s life, but his head rings with the force of it. When he blinks away black spots, he finds himself on the ground and sees Sasuke right above him.</p><p>“What the fuck is wrong with you, idiot?” Sasuke shouts, looking livid.</p><p>Naruto pants upwards at him, eyes wide. Indeed. What the <em>fuck </em>is wrong with him? He’s no wilting flower. He’s never backed down from a fight in his fucking life.</p><p>And then he hears that voice in his ear, again.</p><p>
  <em>If I find another mark on Sasuke’s body, so much as a single scratch. </em>
</p><p>The expression on Sasuke’s face is complex and not with a little confusion. “Moron…”</p><p>Naruto averts his gaze. “I don’t want to fight anymore,” he says, voice soft.</p><p>He’s surprised that, as he says it, it’s true. Probably, he’s never really wanted to fight Sasuke. Maybe that part of him has only always feared, silently, subconsciously, that without the fighting, there could be nothing else.</p><p>There’s a long pause before there’s any response.</p><p>“Oh,” Sasuke says, voice odd. Naruto shifts his head to look at him, and the other boy looks vaguely uncomfortable.</p><p>Naruto stares at him for a moment. He nods a second later, standing up. He walks away.</p><p>They don’t talk for a week.</p>
<hr/><p>They don’t talk for a week, and Naruto is convinced by this time that he is alone again—the kind of alone he hasn’t been since his third day at Konoha. It’s not like anyone wants to be around him at the orphanage either. Sasuke and he had only ever fought, but there had been an odd sort of companionship in that, hadn’t there?</p><p>Eight days from the fight in the cafeteria, Sasuke passes by him in the hallway, pauses, then turns around.</p><p>“My family’s hosting an outdoor party after school. My aunt told me I had to invite a— someone. You’ll do,” he says shortly.</p><p>Naruto stares. His aunt? “What."</p><p>“Seven o’clock,” Sasuke grunts, glaring.</p><p>After a pause, Naruto shifts. “What am I supposed to wear? I don’t really have—”</p><p>Sasuke waves his hand dismissively, scathing. “Do I look like I care? This is just to appease my aunt. Don’t take it the wrong way, moron.”</p><p>But Naruto doesn’t believe him. He’s watched his sworn enemy enough to know when he lies. His mouth curves into a small, tentative smile.</p><p>Sasuke blinks, then walks away without another word.</p>
<hr/><p>Naruto ends up wearing his school uniform, because it takes less than a minute to determine that it’s the most expensive piece of clothing--even being second-hand--he owns.</p><p>As he approaches the estate, his stomach starts turning. He begins to reevaluate his decision to come. The Uchiha’s estate encompasses seemingly endless stretches of land, and that land is now entirely populated by a certain breed of men and women that Naruto instantly recognizes—the kind that hide their watches and jewelry from him when they cross him on the street in his regular clothes.</p><p>Naruto moves through the crowd and begins to spot a few familiar faces from school. They hold glasses with sparking liquid and stand with older men and women who must be their parents, socializing. Their gazes are disparaging when they make eye contact with Naruto.</p><p>Eventually, he finds Sasuke in the distance. The boys and girls surrounding him are all elegant and polished-looking as well. For all that they are visually his kin, however, Sasuke looks bored out of his mind.</p><p>Naruto exhales with relief. He <em>has </em>been invited here, hasn’t he?</p><p>Mouth firming, he begins pushing through the crowd to get to Sasuke. He bumps, partway, into a server carrying a platter of drinks. The older man stumbles and manages to save the tray, but a stream of dark, plum-colored wine splashes across his front.</p><p>“I am so sorry, sir,” the man says, instantly apologetic, though it is entirely Naruto’s fault—and even though, by looking at Naruto for less than a second, he should know that Naruto is far from the caliber of the party’s other guests.</p><p>“Nah, it was my fault. Don’t worry about it,” Naruto mutters, scratching at his head. Eyes are focused on them, drawn in by the fiasco.</p><p>He feels self-conscious, but tries to hide it by smiling widely.</p><p>“Please, follow me. You can come wash inside.” He bows, balancing the platter now with expert skill.</p><p>“Seriously, I’m fine,” Naruto laughs loudly. “Don’t worry about it!”</p><p>“I insist, sir.”</p><p>More spooked than he wants to admit by the amount of attention drilling into him right now, Naruto follows.</p><p>The server leads him into the house and to a kitchen.</p><p>“I will find a stain remover, sir,” the man, unfailingly polite. Naruto nods.</p><p>When the server leaves, Naruto bends over the sink and presses the base of his palms into his eyes.</p><p>He shouldn’t have come, he can see now. This was never going to be anything other than a mess. How the hell was he supposed to fit in here? He couldn’t even fool anyone for five minutes.</p><p>Rising with a sharp exhale, he turns the tap to warm water and untucks his shirt from his pants. It takes some maneuvering to push the blazer out of the way, so that the stained white cloth can run directly under the jet of water. Using his nails, Naruto scrubs at the purple blotch.</p><p>Footsteps clack from further along the hallway, approaching. When they stop suddenly behind him, Naruto turns. He pays no attention to how he looks.</p><p>But it isn’t the waiter.</p><p>Naruto’s body shifts instinctively toward the figure under the arch of the doorway, unprepared for this—he has had none of his usual guards up—and thus completely vulnerable. He forces himself still after a short, aborted step forward.</p><p>It’s around this time that he realizes that Itachi isn’t looking at his face. Instead, his gaze is directed lower.</p><p>A horrific thought enters Naruto’s mind, and his eyes snap downwards as well. He knows immediately what has caught the older boy’s attention. His shirt, the ends sopping wet, is raised just high enough to reveal the beginnings of the letters inscribed on his body.</p><p>
  <em>Uchi—</em>
</p><p>“No,” Itachi says.</p><p>Naruto’s eyes snap upward, young and scared. “No?”</p><p>His entire body is taut with precarious tension—any instant, it might snap and he might crumple like a puppet.</p><p>“Not you,” Itachi says, and he is pale with anger. It is the most expression Naruto has ever seen on the other boy’s face. “Not for Sasuke.”</p><p>And this— this is when Naruto should pull the shirt the rest of the way, should clarify that Sasuke is <em>something</em>, but not that. Far, far from that. Not what Itachi has always been.</p><p>But instead he says—and knows he signs his own death warrant as he says it—“Why not?”</p><p>Itachi watches him, dark, terrible gaze unforgiving. And Naruto feels more poignantly less-than than he ever has before. </p><p>“You do not,” Itachi says curtly, mouth tight, “deserve him.”</p><p>His breath rises faster and faster in his chest. “Is it—” he starts, eyes stinging. “Is it because of—”</p><p>Itachi’s eyes narrow. “Your background has no bearing on the matter. Before you, Sasuke did not get into fights. Before you,” he says, cold, “I had never seen my brother’s eyes bruised. And I am to believe you are his soulmate?”</p><p>Naruto struggles, hands tightening at his sides. He wants to slam one across the older boy’s mouth. He wants to stop the words coming out of that mouth so that he won’t have to remember them forever.</p><p>But more than this: he <em>burns</em> to be— to wrap his arms around this hostile, unrelenting body and feel it hold him too. Just once. Even if it’s the first and last time, even if it’s only once for as long as he lives.</p><p>“Soulmate,” Itachi breathes, with quiet, searing contempt. “I would rather disavow the whole institution entirely. I will not allow this.”</p><p>Naruto’s chest hitches, a soundless, heartbroken noise leaving him. “But if the universe chooses two people—”</p><p>“The universe, if you wish to frame it thusly, chose to take my parents away before their time. It is my duty now to take care of my brother, and I will fulfill that duty until the day I die, Naruto. In service of that, I—” Itachi responds, unblinking, “I do not care what the universe thinks.”</p><p>He leaves after this decisive warning.</p>
<hr/><p>That night, squeezed onto a pallet at its very edge with barely any blanket covering him (despite how very, very cold it is), Naruto cries.</p>
<hr/><p>He can’t, however, avoid the Uchiha estate or Itachi forever.</p><p>Naruto returns with Sasuke because the group projects continue.</p><p>Most of the time, Itachi isn’t there. But when he is, Itachi watches him like a hawk, with dark eyes that are hostile and uncaring of Naruto’s attempts to be as quiet and unobtrusive as possible. Sasuke never notices, somehow.</p><p>There are more parties hosted by aunts and uncles. Sasuke drags him to them all. They’ve become…friends, he thinks. But Naruto attends not because of their friendship. He comes because he will scrabble at even droplets, to be around Itachi, to be near him, if he can never have anything else.</p><p>Itachi, he learns, is infallibly courteous to strangers. To rude relatives, he is as stolid as a mountain—very little perturbs him from his calm (except for Naruto). He is unrealistically kind to the smaller children who run around at these parties, even when no one is paying attention (except for Naruto, always Naruto).</p><p>And in this Naruto understands—</p><p>He understands.</p><p>The side Itachi shows to Sasuke is unfailingly gentle, never a harsh word or a raised voice, never anything less than fully attentive, fully affectionate. Itachi loves his brother more than anything else in this world, will guard and threaten and even become something he is not to protect him.</p><p>Sasuke is…<em>adored</em>, and he doesn’t even realize it.</p><p>What would Naruto do, what crime would he not commit—to be loved like that?</p><p>He does not know.</p>
<hr/><p>Naruto graduates from high school on a Wednesday. Sweat drops down the back of his neck beneath his gown because it is so hot. Classmates rush forward to embrace parents and siblings, but Naruto remains where he is. There is no family for him here, of course.</p><p>His eyes are fixed on the very back of the auditorium, where Itachi stands eyes alight with pride as Sasuke bows formally to him. Naruto stares at them and wishes he could strangle the longing in his chest.</p><p>As it happens, the gardening club maintains a small grove at the back of the school lined with sakura trees. He goes there. It’s the time of year that the flowers fall; blossoms land on his shoulders as he stares blankly up at the sky.</p><p>He wonders what it would have been like, today, to have a family.</p><p>“Uzumaki,” he hears behind him.</p><p>Naruto turns and finds, perhaps, the last person he has expected. It’s the crazy teacher who—for the past year—has assigned him Sasuke as his project partner.</p><p>He shifts his weight, uncomfortable. “Mitarashi-sensei.”</p><p>“I think Anko will suffice now,” she says, a curve to her mouth. “Congratulations.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Naruto responds, smiling back numbly.</p><p>But the teacher doesn’t leave. “A little bird told me you didn’t apply to college.”</p><p>“I don’t have the money,” he says after a pause. His eyes return to the sky. “And I don’t feel like getting into debt.”</p><p>“Hm,” Mitarashi hums. She clucks her tongue a second later. “That’s a shame. You’re pretty smart, Uzumaki. Far smarter than most people think.”</p><p>Naruto lowers his gaze back to her. He’s confused as to why she’s still here.</p><p>“So? Do you know what you’re going to do next?” she presses. She crosses her arms.</p><p>“No,” Naruto admits.</p><p>“You’re an orphan, right. Is the orphanage kicking you out?” she asks indelicately.</p><p>“Yeah,” he answers, straightening with another bright smile. “I’m an adult now.”</p><p>“Maa,” she sighs loudly, shaking her head. “That’s a mess you’re in, kid.”</p><p>Naruto’s mouth firms. He turns his head away and forces some of the usual bravado. “I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about me, sensei. I have a cousin of a cousin—”</p><p>He doesn’t.</p><p>“You’ve got Sasuke, of course,” she says smoothly, cutting him off. Naruto’s mouth opens and closes. She rounds her eyes with a bit of gentle mockery. “Oh—did you think that was an accident? I knew about you two morons when you stepped into my class. Usual, emotionally inept, aspiring alpha-male types. I used to eat your kind for breakfast.”</p><p>“Okay…?” Naruto says, looking at her strangely now.</p><p>Mitarashi rolls her eyes. “I was a police officer, Uzumaki.”</p><p>His eyes widen, surveying her differently.</p><p>“Twelve years in the force,” she affirms with a cocky nod. She arches an eyebrow at him. “Even got shot a few times too. You ever thought about it?”</p><p>Naruto blinks rapidly, trying to reconcile the first statement with the following question. “I haven’t.”</p><p>“You don’t need a college education. Just need to take a national exam and then prove yourself in the field if you want to go up the food chain,” Mitarashi says lightly.</p><p>She leans forward suddenly, eyebrows raising. “I mention it, Uzumaki, because I think you would be damn good at it. Our backgrounds aren’t so different, you know.”</p><p>Naruto watches her warily.</p><p>Brown eyes scan him in return. “We’re used to being alone, so we’re used to looking after ourselves, aren’t we? We’re used to only having our own backs, so we don’t make the mistake of trusting others lightly. Those are skills that serve us well. It keeps us alive longer than most.”</p><p>“You left,” Naruto points out.</p><p>“I did,” Mitarashi nods. Her lips quirk up. “I found my one of a kind.”</p><p>He’s not quite sure why he’s still here. She’s no longer his teacher. He could just walk away.</p><p>Had that person made her quit, he wonders.</p><p>“I told you I eat alpha types for breakfast, didn’t I, kid?” she drawls, reading his expression. “It was my choice, and it’s none of your business.  But getting back to <em>you</em>, I think, who as my cute student is very much my business… I think you’re not going to a top college or planning to be a banker or a lawyer or a politician, not because you think you can’t Uzumaki, but because you already know there’s nothing in it for you. So why not try this out?”</p><p>Naruto shifts his weight, shoulders tight.</p><p>“The superintendent of Tokyo is my senpai,” Mitarashi says slyly, stepping back. “Let me know what you decide. I can put in a good word for you.”</p><p>She turns around and waves without looking back.</p>
<hr/><p>As he spends that night on a park bench, Naruto thinks about it. The next day, he submits all ten of the application forms.</p>
<hr/><p>First year training is probably not shitty enough to muster passing off as hell—Naruto grew up in an under-resourced orphanage, after all—but it’s a close call.</p><p>He’s not sure why, but he doesn’t tell anyone that he enrolls.</p><p>(By anyone, Naruto means Sasuke.)</p><p>Maybe it’s because part of him is prepared to never see the other boy again when he steps foot inside the police academy. With Sasuke off to the top university in the country, why would he ever look back? What would Sasuke need in a friend that he couldn’t find among the best and the smartest their age?</p><p>A week passes in which Naruto increasingly makes his peace with this reality. That is, until Sasuke calls him, spends a few minutes cussing him out, and orders him to make his Friday evening free.</p><p>That Friday, Naruto sneaks out and hangs out at Sasuke’s dormitory. They stay up until three in the morning playing video games and eating pizza. Somehow, the topic of what Naruto <em>does </em>these days never comes up, even though Sasuke must know he isn’t at school.</p><p>He hears from Sasuke that Itachi’s left the law firm he was working at to go to the prosecutor’s office.</p><p>He already knows this, of course. There’s a small, dingy television screen in the trainee communal room, and the biggest news channels track Itachi’s landslide wins diligently. Ironically, just as when he was six, it is the only way he knows his soulmate still exists in the world.</p><p>(<em>That, </em>not training, is hell—that he doesn’t see Itachi the entire year.)</p><p>Sometimes, at the top of his bunk bed, he spends hours staring at the stucco ceiling at night wondering how the man is, what he’s doing, if he ever—even if just as a passing memory of an annoyance—thinks of Naruto.</p>
<hr/><p>“You graduated the top of your class from the academy, I see.”</p><p>“Believe it,” Naruto says, flashing a bright smile, even as he wonders why the fuck he’s <em>here</em>. He winces when his police academy instructor elbows him in his side, but he keeps the smile firmly aloft.</p><p>Hatake Kakashi, Naruto finds, is a lanky man with an eye-patch and a mask and a concerning amount of silver hair for someone his age. He is also the superintendent and probably the senpai his teacher had talked about.</p><p>An eyebrow arches. “There were warning signs, maybe. Mitarashi did ring me up in when you enrolled a year back. And of course, the deliciously luscious Iruka-sensei has also told me a lot about you, Uzumaki.”</p><p>Had he just said—? Fuck. Naruto searches the room swiftly for cover.</p><p>“Excuse me, taichou, as I will be stepping away now to file a report for workplace harassment,” is the dangerously calm response.</p><p>“Now, now, you can’t file harassment against the man you’re married to, sensei,” the superintendent drawls.</p><p>Naruto’s eyes widen.</p><p>“Actually,” Iruka says, venomous, “you’ll find that I <em>can</em>.”</p><p>Naruto laughs nervously and loudly, scratching his head. “How about we get back to why I’m here!”</p><p>Hatake’s gaze returns to him, the humor dissipating slightly. “Quite.”</p><p>Iruka clears his throat, ire replaced by a grim expression that leaves Naruto suddenly wary. “We’re here because…Well, Naruto, you might be a good candidate for a long-standing case that has given our department some amount of trouble these past few years.”</p><p>“That’s understating the issue,” Hatake sighs, rubbing at his forehead. His eyes narrow, however. “What have you gathered about our handling of the yakuza, kid?”</p><p>Naruto squints. “We punish any and all violations of the law.”</p><p>“Don’t be <em>boring</em>, please,” the superintendent yawns. “Your test scores tell me you have a better brain than that.”</p><p>Naruto stares hard into the gaze analyzing him coolly. He doesn’t like this feeling—of being looked at and sensing the owner of that gaze probably sees more than Naruto intends to reveal.</p><p>“We don’t have the manpower to dismantle them entirely,” he says slowly. “A half-way job would probably only make them…more dangerous.”</p><p>“So?”</p><p>“So we…allow them to operate in their own ecosystem, for the most part. But they have to abide by certain rules. When they break those rules, we act.”</p><p>“Indeed,” Hatake says evenly, sharing a look with Iruka. “Good.”</p><p>“What does this have to do with me?” Naruto presses.</p><p>The superintendent leans back in his chair, balancing on two legs. “One of the older clans has started getting frisky with us. The problem is: they’re well-established and powerful enough that they watch who goes in and out of all the departments in Tokyo. The two experienced officers we’ve sent undercover have both been killed within the week.”</p><p>“Is that why we’re meeting at a maid café?” Naruto mutters.</p><p>“I’ve been playing for years with the idea of sending someone straight in from the police academy,” Hatake continues as though he hasn’t heard, “For obvious reasons, it’s not ideal. But your file and Iruka-sensei paint a picture pretty enough to make it…plausible for the first time. You are unusually capable for someone of your level of experience.”</p><p>Naruto’s gaze flickers. “You haven’t considered bringing in a more experienced officer from another city?”</p><p>Hatake chuckles. “Not even an Osaka officer is going to come in to deal with one of Tokyo’s oldest yakuza clans. Don’t they teach you that at the academy? Everyone knows local officers have a higher survival rate with undercover ops, especially in Tokyo.”</p><p>“But Naruto,” Iruka cuts in, voice worried and forceful, “no one will hold it against you, not with the history this case has and how green you are, if you decline this. The more I’ve thought about it, the more I think it would be a mistake—”</p><p>“I’ll do it,” Naruto says softly. The man beside Naruto falls silent.</p><p>Hatake looks at him with slight surprise, perhaps a flash of victory, before all emotion fades.</p><p>“Excellent,” he says shortly. “Who besides your fellow trainees, your instructors, and that hells spawn Mitarashi knows that you attended the academy?”</p><p>Naruto’s eyes go to the bright pink ceiling, a smile pasted on his face. “No one. Convenient, right?”</p><p>Iruka makes a quiet sound.</p><p>“Ah,” Hatake says, and there is a lot unsaid in this remark too.</p>
<hr/><p>It turns out that it’s relatively easy to get recruited by one of the oldest yakuza clans in Tokyo with a background like his. Orphan kid, used to looking out for himself; no guardians of any kind in the picture. There’s no pretending he didn’t go to Konoha, but he doesn’t even have to make up the diversity initiative. The fact that he hasn’t gone on to university like almost every other Konoha student makes it easy to believe that he’s an angry kid who had not been quite good enough to take advantage of what had been handed to him, now contemptuous of the affluent—but still desiring a fast track to become part of that exclusive group himself.</p><p>What Naruto does become, in actuality, is a disposable dogsbody: a part of the unique class of criminal that does very little but, more often than not, takes the fall for someone higher up.</p><p>The man who recruits him and other similarly discontented individuals for the clan is silver-tongued enough to evade this topic, however.</p><p>“You’re on trial period for a month,” he tells them, thin mouth curving. “Only one of you will be selected to ascend the ranks.”</p><p>Men and women eye each other nervously after this announcement. Likely, Naruto understands suddenly, in another life, this is exactly where he would have ended up. Ironic, he thinks, that in this life, this is where he seemingly ends up all the same.</p><p>The first week, as it happens, passes by mostly uneventfully. They’re given a dingy apartment to hole up in and an allowance for food.</p><p>The second week is when the seriousness of their trials escalates dramatically. Incredulity resounds across the room when they are told what they must do.</p><p>“You have to prove your loyalty,” the recruiter, Yaido, states calmly. “You have to prove to us that you’re worth our investments. Because I assure you, the rewards are substantial.”</p><p>Naruto watches at the back, arms crossed.</p><p>For some reason, he makes eye contact with Naruto. “Go on, then.”</p>
<hr/><p>The journey to Sumiyoshi-kai territory is, anti-climactically, a walk—it’s not as though they’ve been given any vehicles to use as recruits. But as they cross the city, Naruto starts to feel a strange sensation on the back of his neck.</p><p>He checks the other recruits to see if they notice anything. When no one else seems perturbed, he starts walking more slowly, falling to the back of the pack. Had the recruiter sent someone to watch them? Or was it the recruiter himself, he wonders warily.</p><p>They turn into an alley, and Naruto pretends to brush his nose, angling his head downward and to the side.</p><p>His head snaps straight forward a second later.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck.  </em>
</p><p>Naruto had, naturally, turned over all his things over to Iruka for safe-keeping before beginning the undercover operation. There had been a sort of vague recognition with this act that anyone who called would go unanswered for the foreseeable future.</p><p>He hadn’t, however, thought as far as to consider the fall-out of that.</p><p>Now, on the on the verge of the first real conflict he will encounter while being undercover, he <em>also </em>has to worry about Sasuke following him into a very bad part of the city because Naruto had missed a few calls.</p><p>How the fuck had Sasuke found him? There must have been a private investigator involved, he pieces together swiftly. But—<em>why</em>? It had only been a week since he had broken contact. How much had the investigator found out?</p><p>His step falters and one of the other recruits looks at him sharply. In response, Naruto quickens his pace and tries to look normal.</p><p>It won’t do any good to call attention to Sasuke now, he forces himself to think rationally. The recruits beside him will recognize his kind—well-bred, wealthy, arrogant—in less than a second. Not to mention their impending clash with Sumiyoshi-kai yakuza—</p><p>Sasuke isn’t an idiot, Naruto assures himself. He’ll see the fight break out, see that it has nothing to do with him, and get the hell out.</p><p>It doesn’t go that way.</p><p>They run into a roaming band of yakuza on-watch within minutes. They carry steel bats and don’t look all too surprised to see them (this must happen regularly, Naruto guesses). It becomes clear just a minute into the fight that these are not excellent fighters, but experienced ones.</p><p>There are ten of them, and the recruits number at five. At the one minute mark, two of the recruits abandon the scuffle, sprinting into the maze of alleys. The remaining two with Naruto— a small, but compact man and a rail-thin woman—notice only a few minutes later when they’re catching their breaths.  </p><p>“I’m no coward,” the woman grunts, eyes alarmed. “But I’m not suicidal either.”</p><p>The man nods, quick and sharp.</p><p>They leave without a glance behind them. Naruto, rooted in place by his mission, watches them go.</p><p>“Looks like you’re all alone now,” one of the Sumiyoshi-kai men says, grinning cruelly. They rearrange themselves slowly to encircle him.</p><p>This, Naruto fully expects, is true—he’s certainly not anticipating any of the other recruits to come running back any second now. Only, just as he ducks the first bat, he finds another body settling against him, covering his back.</p><p>“You’re explaining this later, moron,” he hears Sasuke hiss.</p><p>And there are still ten of them and only two of them, and this is the worst possible case scenario, and yet, despite this, he feels—</p>
<hr/><p>An hour later, they are at a police department. It takes them twenty minutes to be shuffled, hand-cuffed, into a room to be processed. It takes ten more for the officer doing the processing to show up.</p><p>“What’s your name?”</p><p>Naruto’s eyes flicker to the officer. “Uzumaki Naruto.”</p><p>“And yours?”</p><p>“Uchiha Sasuke.”</p><p>The balding, middle-aged man chokes on his coffee. “Ex—<em>excuse me</em>?”</p><p>“Uchiha,” Sasuke says coolly, “Sasuke.”</p><p>The officer clears his throat importantly, but shoots a panicked look toward the other officer at the door. Everyone’s heard the name Uchiha. “I see. Well, listen here. Fighting in the streets is against the law, no matter who you are. Not to mention, you were involved in a conflict with yakuza.”</p><p>“They were?” Sasuke asks calmly.</p><p>“You didn’t—” the officer sputters. He inhales. “They had tattoos. They were clearly yakuza.”</p><p>“I didn’t notice,” the black-haired man answers indifferently.</p><p>And despite their fucked-up situation, Naruto finds himself stifling a small laugh.</p><p>“You two fought them together?”</p><p>“Don't lump me in with this prissy asshole—” Naruto plays up loudly now, sobering and wanting to create as many degrees of separation between them as he can.</p><p>“Together,” Sasuke says shortly.</p><p>The older man nods. Apparently, Sasuke’s word is law.</p><p>The officer processing them makes eye contact again with the officer at the door. “Take them to that cell,” he mutters, looking meaningfully to his left.</p><p>“…which cell?” the other officer mutters back, eyes narrowing.</p><p>“You know,” the first officer exhales, staring pointedly at Sasuke. “<em>That </em>one.”</p><p>“Oh,” the second officer says loudly, “the VIP one. Why didn’t you just say that?”</p><p>The officer processing them in shakes his head, reddening slightly. “Get them out of here, Sota.”</p><p>“Understood. No need to yell, sir.”</p><p>He herds Sasuke and Naruto to a ten by ten cell, well-lit and clean.</p><p>“No shenanigans,” he calls out as he locks them in. He walks away whistling, keys jostling at his side.</p><p>Sasuke turns on him immediately. “What the hell are you doing, Naruto?”</p><p>Naruto doesn’t answer his question, asking instead, “How did you find me?”</p><p>“That doesn’t matter,” he snaps back. “Yakuza? Are you—” He inhales sharply. “When you didn’t go to university, did I question you? No. Because what you do with your life is none of my business. But when you descend to these levels of <em>imbecility</em>—”</p><p>“You’re right,” Naruto says slowly. “It’s none of your business.”</p><p>Sasuke falls silent, glaring at him. He exhales sharply and crosses his arm. “You think I care? Whatever.”</p><p>They sit in silence for a long time. Sasuke doesn’t relax even fractionally, gaze never moving from him.</p><p>This is going to be a problem, he can tell. Sasuke’s quiet now, but Naruto isn’t fooled. Maybe, he can tell—well, not everything, not that he’s an undercover police officer, so undercover that no one in this department would be able to find his name on an officer database if they attempted to search it up—but just enough, perhaps, to tide Sasuke over until—</p><p>“Just this way, Uchiha-san,” they hear a woman call out.</p><p>Two pair of footsteps echo down the hall. When a shadow forms on the cell floor, right between them. Naruto’s eyes dart up. He flinches back at what sees, face raw like a wound.</p><p>“Sasuke,” Itachi says softly, gently, eyes focused solely on his brother, “are you hurt?”</p><p>Sasuke stands up immediately. “No, aniki.”</p><p>And Naruto—</p><p>This is the first time he has seen Itachi in a year.</p><p>His body, contradictorily, feels aflame, as though he had truly been in hell those three hundred and sixty five or so days. Except, it’s only now that he can grasp the full extent of that agony.</p><p>Naruto’s eyes search him without rest, breath rattling in his chest.  </p><p>He had been a fool to think that those brief glimpses on the television were enough to witness all that had changed. His mouth curves with wonder, even as it hurts, because Itachi’s voice is deeper now, a fully grown man’s, and the television had not told him this, had not prepared him for this.</p><p>He has turned on the television every single day that year to get a glimpse of him, to see his face, to hear his voice, and none of it had been enough. He’s within touching distance now, although he knows he cannot touch.</p><p>A <em>year</em>, Naruto’s body protests still.</p><p>(Has he thought about Naruto, Uzumaki Naruto, for even a fraction of a second of those days?)</p><p>“How did you get here so fast?” he hears Sasuke ask.</p><p>“I did a favor for one of the officers in the department a while back—incidentally, it worked out that way with a case. She called as soon as she saw you enter,” Itachi explains calmly, nodding toward her. “It’s fortunate that she recognized you.”</p><p>“Nothing would have happened, Itachi,” Sasuke says, but his face is solemn. “I’m <em>with </em>law enforcement.”</p><p>“Yes,” Itachi says. It seems, for an ephemeral moment, that his eyes might flicker to Naruto. “I have dealt with this. You are free to go, Sasuke.”</p><p>As he says this, the police officer comes forward with the keys to the cell to let him out. She moves to shut the cell door behind her.</p><p>Sasuke’s eyes narrow, inserting his arm into the remaining space to keep the door open. “Come on, Naruto.”</p><p>Naruto looks blankly at the keys held in the officer’s hand, remaining exactly where he is.</p><p>“Not him,” the officer responds.</p><p>“He has other arrangements,” Itachi says softly. “Right?”</p><p>And his eyes are drawn then like a moth to a flame—he knows it will hurt, the closer they go. And indeed those dark eyes—darker than the tar Naruto used to sit on, alone, during play time at the orphanage—sear him.</p><p>“Yeah,” Naruto returns, equally soft. His hands tremble. He tightens them in his lap.</p><p>Sasuke’s face twists. “Fine,” he says curtly, temper clear in his voice. He turns on his heel. “Coming?”</p><p>“Just a moment,” Itachi says, voice unfailingly gentle. “Go ahead without me.”</p><p>After a brief moment of hesitation, Sasuke goes. The officer waits for a second, shrugs, then follows, leaving the two of them alone.</p><p><em>Itachi</em>, Naruto wants to say, just once—just to taste it on his tongue.</p><p>“Uzumaki,” his soulmate says, tone cold.</p><p>“Uchiha-san,” he says back, eyes lowered.</p><p>He hears a sharp sigh. “I thought you were gone from his life,” Itachi says quietly.</p><p>Naruto’s hair hides the way his face contorts—or so he hopes.</p><p>“I think you’ve…misunderstood,” he tries carefully, <em>desperately</em>, “I don’t want to see Sasuke hurt. What happened— I didn’t know he would be there. I actually…I haven’t talked to him in a week.”</p><p>Will he be rewarded for this, at least? Even if Sasuke is the only friend he’s ever had in his life, for Itachi…if he were to stay away…</p><p>His hands curl around his own arms; he leans forward to hide the movement.</p><p>“So is this what you have become?” Itachi asks him.</p><p>Naruto nearly flinches.</p><p>“A shame. From the limited amount I recall when I looked into you, it seemed you had some promise,” the older man finishes coolly.</p><p>Naruto doesn’t respond, biting down until he can taste blood in his mouth.</p><p>“I think the problem with you is not what you intend, I will give you that much,” Itachi observes slowly. “But that does not change the fact that the influence you have on Sasuke has always been detrimental to his well-being.”</p><p>Naruto’s face is fully directed toward the floor now.</p><p>“Look at me,” Itachi orders. “Do you remember my warning?”</p><p>For a second, Naruto shudders. Then, he affixes a painful smile to his face and lifts his head. He smiles so hard, he probably looks mad.</p><p>“Perhaps a night in jail will set you straight,” his soulmate ponders, clinical. “Perhaps not.”</p><p>He turns on his heel and leaves without another word. As soon as he is out of sight, Naruto crumples back onto the cell’s bench.</p><p>“<em>Itachi,</em>” it bursts out of his mouth, ragged and suffocated with love, even though its recipient is gone.</p><p>Footsteps resound from down the hall, quick and even.</p><p>It’s Sota.</p><p>“We’re shifting you to the main cell, kid,” he explains as Naruto is pulled out. “Orders from the boss.”</p><p>Of course they are, now that Sasuke is gone.</p><p>“Why are you putting handcuffs on me?” Naruto asks quietly when his wrists are raised.</p><p>“You’re in here for fighting. It’s just a safety precaution,” the officer explains, twisting the key to lock the mechanism around his wrists.</p><p>He’s directed to a cell nearly as big as the one he had been in—but this is packed by more bodies than it should fit. Among its inhabitants are the Sumiyoshi-kai yakuza, also handcuffed. They look both pleased and incensed to see him.</p><p>“Go on in.”</p><p>Naruto steps inside, mouth twisting. The cell door shuts with a high-pitched clang, sharp with finality. The officer walks away.</p><p>The yakuza are on him in seconds. Apparently, he discovers later, someone had managed to smuggle in a hair pin.</p>
<hr/><p>They’re taught in the academy, rather early on, that victims who undergo emotional or physical trauma can sometimes develop false memories—unconsciously and unknowingly, a defense mechanism of the brain to protect itself.</p><p>Naruto knows he spends that night in jail. He knows he spends it barely conscious in the corner of that cell, body wracked with pain (it’s hard to tell what is physical pain and what is not—is his broken arm the result of a blow or a word?).</p><p>But he also remembers this.</p><p>After, when it is all over, and he’s bleeding against the inner corner of the cell, there is someone with him.</p><p>This person kneels in front of Naruto and tilts his face up, hands gentle.</p><p>“What have you done to yourself, darling?”</p><p>And Naruto’s whole face crumples, like a child’s, torn between disbelief and ecstasy. “Darling?” he echoes, voice wrecked.</p><p>“No good?” Itachi asks, mouth curving. Warmth brushes Naruto like a tangible caress from the look in his eyes. “How about—my love. Does that sound better?”</p><p>“No,” Naruto says, voice little more than a whisper, “he would never— He would not call me that.”</p><p>“What would he call you then?” Itachi murmurs, drawing him in close.</p><p>Naruto sinks into the body holding him, and it feels like settling into warm water at long-last, like his skin has been numbed with cold his entire life until now.</p><p>“Naruto,” he whispers—he’s been reduced to it—“Just Naruto, maybe. Could you—?”</p><p>“Naruto,” Itachi says sweetly, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Naruto, Naruto. You’ve made a bit of a mess of us, haven’t you?”</p><p>“I have,” Naruto admits readily. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“Shh,” he hushes, soothing him again. “Don’t cry, Naruto. It’s alright.”</p><p>Naruto clings to this specter, demon, whatever it is, as tightly as he can.</p><p>“Just tell me—why?” Itachi asks him curiously.</p><p>“Why?” he breathes into the warm neck beneath his lips, reverential.</p><p>“Why love me?”</p><p>Naruto averts his face.</p><p>“Tell me,” Itachi cajoles, cradling him. “Who else could I tell?”</p><p>This is true.</p><p>“At first—” he starts, voice hoarse. “It was the idea of you. That the universe made you…just for me.”</p><p>“I see.” A hand runs over his hair again. “And then?”</p><p>“But that wasn’t love. Not really,” Naruto confesses, eyes shutting determinedly, “Love was— love came when—”</p><p>“When?” Itachi persuades, brushing his lips against his softly.</p><p>Strangely, Naruto does not feel it.</p><p>“When I saw how you loved,” he whispers, eyes fixed above them both. “When I saw how you would love me. If you did.”</p><p>The air rushes out of him as he says these words. And then, only then, does he remember his eyes falling slowly shut.</p>
<hr/><p>Naruto knows later, of course, that none of it happened at all.</p>
<hr/><p>In six months, Naruto climbs the ranks of the organization. He accomplishes this through committing a jaw-dropping amount of violence. On the first day of the seventh month, he meets the kumicho of the Yamaguchi-gumi clan.</p><p>“Bow as soon as you enter,” Yaido tells him coolly as they wait outside the door. “Do not speak until the kumicho does. Agree with everything.”</p><p>Naruto responds by giving a silent thumbs up sign.</p><p>“My name rides on yours. If you mess this up,” Yaido whispers as the doors open, “no one will hear <em>your</em> name again.”</p><p>The room is simple and yet extravagant, the few objects obvious in their value. A row of men and women kneel before a statuesque, ebony desk. Behind this desk sits a woman with black hair and deep set whiskey-colored eyes.</p><p>“This is your candidate, Yaido?” Her voice is as rough as sandpaper.</p><p>“Yes, kumicho.”</p><p>“Kneel, boy,” she murmurs, elegant fingers curling together on the dark surface of the desk.</p><p>Naruto is all but shoved forward by Yaido into the line. Lowering his head carefully, he bends his knees and falls into seiza.</p><p>The woman stands and crosses to the front of the desk, head inclining delicately to survey them.</p><p>“Let’s go down the line,” she commands lightly. “Name and age.”</p><p>“Tsuki, thirty years,” the first man says, voice shaking just barely.</p><p>The rest follow like neatly arranged dominoes.</p><p>“Akihiko, twenty seven years.”</p><p>“Hina, twenty four years.”</p><p>“Minami, thirty one years.”</p><p>“Goro, forty three years.”</p><p>“Takumi, also thirty one years.”</p><p>“Naruto, nineteen years,” Naruto finishes.</p><p>“Stand,” the kumicho orders after a brief pause.</p><p>They stand.</p><p>She evaluates them silently, long, perfectly manicured nails tapping rhythmically against the desk.</p><p>“Take your shirts off,” she says suddenly, mouth curving.</p><p>The rest move immediately. Naruto stares at her for a moment, brow furrowing, until he feels Yaido’s glare burning into his side. Stiffly, he begins to unbutton the white shirt he has on. He pulls it off and lets it fall to the floor like the others, grateful that a bandage covers his mark.</p><p>The kumicho walks down the line, gaze perusing them like meat. She stops a few times, squeezing an arm here, squeezing a pectoral there.</p><p>She stops at Naruto. “You’re young,” she comments.</p><p>“He is young, but he has proven himself at an unprecedented rate,” Yaido says smoothly.</p><p>“Really?” the kumicho smiles, arching an eyebrow. “An <em>animal</em>, is he?”</p><p>“He certainly fights like one, kumicho,” Yaido responds, voice deferentially low. “He’s the best recruit I’ve seen in in years.”</p><p>“Now that’s high praise,” the kumicho tells him, patting his face like a dog. Naruto’s jaw clenches at the sensation of her cold skin against his face.</p><p>She steps back, smiling. “Alright. I’ll take this one and, hm—” she saunters to the woman who had declared her name as Minami—“you. The rest of you, leave.”</p><p>Naruto catches relieved expressions as the others turn away, rushing out the door. He stiffens when the kumicho’s hand grazes his face again.</p><p>“Yaido?” she calls out, voice sweet. “Make sure they have something proper to wear for the luncheon. It’s not every day Uchiha Madara invites us to the family estate—I won’t have him looking down on my personal guards.”</p><p>Naruto’s nails bite into his palms. <em>Uchiha</em>?</p><p>“And weaponry, kumicho? Should I outfit them with the berrettas?”</p><p>“The SIG-sauers will do.”</p><p>“Yes, kumicho.”</p>
<hr/><p>The last time Naruto was here, the only piece of acceptable clothing he had owned had been his school uniform; his hair had been longer and unruly—rarely combed except for when he ran his fingers through the mess—and his soulmate had not wanted him.</p><p>Now, Naruto walks onto the Uchiha estate in a suit worth more money than he’s ever seen in his life. His hair is shorn close to his head, just brushing his ears. He has a SIG-sauer tucked inside his jacket—and his soulmate still does not want him.</p><p>He sees the moment Itachi notices their entrance, pausing mid-conversation with some elderly gentleman. His eyes land on Minami first, pause on Naruto, then skate past him to the kumicho. Those dark, tar-black eyes narrow, then snap unerringly to another figure at the luncheon—one that is moving steadily toward them.</p><p>“Fumiko,” the man greets. He has the distinctive black hair of the Uchiha and eyes a shade lighter than Itachi’s. His hair is a riotous mass down his back, but he is impeccably dressed.</p><p>This must be Uchiha Madara, Naruto thinks.</p><p>The kumicho outstretches her hand elegantly. Madara smirks slightly, then bows low to brush his lips against it.</p><p>“Your nephew does not seem to have been made aware of our attendance, Madara,” the kumicho observes with a smile as sharp as a blade. “Nor does he seem all too pleased.”</p><p>“My nephew may be clan head, but he is young—you must forgive him, as he has yet to understand fully the ways of the world,” Madara says cryptically. “Regardless of his feelings on the matter, Fumiko-san, you are my guest. Your presence here is above question.”</p><p>“Excellent,” Fumiko responds with relish, mouth curving. She walks past him into the swarms of men and women, uncaring of their stares. Naruto and Minami follow until she tilts her head lazily back and murmurs to them, “Scatter, but keep an eye on me at all times.”</p><p>Naruto signals to Minami that he’ll take the south side facing the river. She nods and heads in the opposite direction.</p><p>Naruto takes his post. For a few minutes, no one disturbs him. His eyes narrow as he senses motion from his left, head turning slightly. A figure dressed head to toe in bespoke black clothing appears at his side.</p><p>“Are you trying for an early death, dobe?”</p><p>Naruto sighs in response, though his eyes do not move from Fumiko. “We already talked about this.”</p><p>“Those platitudes you made during a five minute phone call the day after we both went to jail were worth nothing,” Sasuke hisses, smiling politely at a couple who walk by and wave at him. He reaches for a drink from one of the waiter’s trays and downs it in one go. “Why are you still with the Yamaguchi-gumi?”</p><p>Naruto’s eyes narrow, flicking to him briefly, before he returns his attention to Fumiko. She seems to move with ease through the crowd, a tall glass of red wine entwined between her fingers as her lips turn up in a coquettish smile.</p><p>“Itachi isn’t happy you’re here,” Sasuke mutters. “He’s not happy with Madara either.”</p><p>And at the mention of him—Naruto can’t help himself. He tells himself, as his eyes make a quick pass over the crowd, that he’s only further ensuring Fumiko’s security as part of his cover, not betraying that cover.</p><p>He finds Itachi at the center of a cluster of individuals. His gaze lingers, of course, because he can’t help but prolong any rare chance has to look.</p><p>But then he can’t move his gaze even though he should, because there’s a woman beside him—and Itachi’s long, achingly beautiful fingers graze the intimate expanse of her lower back.</p><p>Air escapes his chest in a cold, brutal exhale. He takes an unwitting step back.</p><p>From his vantage point, Naruto is able to see half of her. She is just as tall as Itachi with her heels, with short, angled hair cut bluntly at her chin. Unlike most of the other women at the luncheon, she’s neglected the traditionality of a dress for a sharp pantsuit. She’s neglected all ornamentation, as well.</p><p>The woman, Naruto reflects painfully, is strikingly beautiful.</p><p>“Who is she?” he finds himself demanding, breath ragged.</p><p>Sasuke follows his gaze. “Takahashi Yugao,” he answers disinterestedly. “Haven’t you seen her in the news?”</p><p>“Is she a—a socialite?” Naruto asks, eyes stinging. His eyes trace the swanlike curve of her neck, the gentle swell of her breasts, the impossible length of her legs—not with lust, with anything but lust—and knows that it would be more than plausible.</p><p>His heart thuds like a rabbit’s in his chest with terror.</p><p>“She probably could have been,” Sasuke mutters distractedly. “Seriously, moron, do you read the news? She’s CEO of the company that makes most of the high-end cell phones in this country.”</p><p>“They’re together,” Naruto says—he means it to be a question, but as it begins to leave his mouth, he realizes he already knows the answer.</p><p>Sasuke exhales impatiently, and Naruto knows he’s wondering why on earth he cares. “Not officially, yet,” he answers with ill-disguised annoyance. “Though, she’s the first person I’ve ever known to spend the night, so I imagine it won’t be long—”</p><p>Naruto doesn’t hear anything after this.</p><p>He averts his gaze, some self-preservation instinct long-suppressed rising up and taking control of his faculties. He can hear his breath picking up, faster and faster, until it’s quicker than even his heartbeat.</p><p>Has Itachi— Had he—?</p><p>“What’s wrong with you, moron?” Sasuke asks, annoyed.</p><p>His first instinct is rage.</p><p><em>How dare she?</em> How dare this woman touch what has <em>never </em>been hers? It washes over him violently, this sudden, visceral need to tear every memory, everything that <em>she</em> was never supposed to see, out of her mind.</p><p>And in return, as for what Itachi has seen—</p><p>This is when panic sets in.</p><p>Because—how on earth can he possibly make Itachi forget every impossible, perfect inch of her? How could he ever persuade him, now, to look at <em>Naruto </em>for the rest of his life—?</p><p>When it comes to the question of deserving, Naruto knows that he has never deserved Itachi (has only ever wanted him, needed him, searched for him his entire life); he has ended up here, plucked from obscurity, by pure happenstance and dumb luck.</p><p>But when he considers the question of what Itachi deserves—there is nothing in Naruto’s life that he has accomplished that can compare to what someone like Takashi Yugao has done. He doubts, as well, that there is anything his scarred, worn body possess that Itachi could not find with greater pleasure or greater satisfaction from hers.</p><p>It dawns on him with brutal swiftness and simplicity.</p><p>“Nothing’s wrong,” Naruto answers, twisting his lips into a mask of a smile. Stiffly, painfully, he turns his head back toward his charge.</p><p>He understands, in this moment, that what he has held on to so fervently all along has never been his to hold. And it feels like he puts something that has been long-dead—though never before realized as such—to rest.</p>
<hr/><p>Over six months, Naruto gathers the evidence to put the kumicho and her inner circle in jail. He keeps contact with Kakashi through discreet calls at anonymous phone booths. The superintendent never discloses much, but Naruto begins to sense that there is a third unknown party in the equation—someone who tells Kakashi what information they need to find. Naruto merely accomplishes the grunt work.</p><p>At the end of each night, he drags himself to his tiny, decrepit apartment with broken fingers and bruised ribs and bleeding gashes. Bandage litters every crevice of his apartment, old and new. His meager refrigerator is filled to the brim with ice. His bathtub is stained with blood that even the bleach can’t seem to get fully rid of.</p><p>Sometimes, because he cannot help himself, he’ll turn on the television as he sinks gingerly onto his stiff pallet after a long hour of taping himself back together. Just to get a glimpse.</p><p>It’s easier than ever to catch a glimpse, these days.</p><p>His soulmate makes no effort to hide: he and the beautiful woman are photographed at lunches, at dinners, exiting each other’s homes late at night and early in the morning. The cameras flock to them in hordes, like bees to honey, at their uncaring brazenness.  </p><p>What draws everyone to look is probably this. When they see her by his side, it seems clear that she was always supposed to be his partner.</p><p>Will there be a ring in a year, the reporters wonder. A marriage in two? A beautiful, round-faced child with eyes as dark as tar by year five—</p><p>He can never bear the television for more than a minute.</p>
<hr/><p>A secret—in defiance of, in contradiction of, in sacrilegious rejection of reality.</p><p>Some nights (like a rare summer rain—serendipitously, sweetly, quietly) the phantom from the prison returns.</p><p>He knows that the world his brain creates as delusion is not the one he lives in. But sometimes, when Naruto wakes, he feels that he might cry just to dream again.</p>
<hr/><p>It’s around the one year mark that Naruto receives the call.</p><p>“It looks like we might have good weather this summer,” Kakashi says calmly.</p><p>Naruto’s eyes widen briefly, before he controls his expression, aware of the yakuza loitering outside the telephone booth.</p><p>“Really? The weathermen are certain?” He gives a thumbs up to a particularly mean-looking thug within his line of sight. “Good weather coming soon, Gato!”</p><p>The man in question gives him an ugly glare.</p><p>“As certain as they can ever be,” is the cryptic answer.</p><p>His fingers tap rapidly against the plastic phone. “Are you saying that you think I can pack away the winter clothing today, uncle?” he asks, smile pasted firmly on his face.</p><p>“Yes,” Kakashi answers slowly, carefully. “I don’t think you’ll need to wear a coat for a long time yet.”</p><p>Naruto hangs up shortly after. He and the rest of the yakuza carry on, heading back to the main house to report in.</p><p>So the mysterious person Kakashi has been working with has at last determined that they have gathered enough actionable evidence, Naruto processes as they walk, face averted from the others.</p><p>He should feel…excitement, possibly. This will be the last report, the last night he will have to pretend to be one of them.</p><p>What he feels instead is mostly apathy: because other than a few exceptions—Sasuke, Iruka, possibly, peripherally, Mitarashi-sensei—there’s nothing substantial that waits for him on return that he also does not have now.</p><p>His head lowers slightly at this thought, as he enters the veritable fortress that is the Yamaguchi-gumi’s main house. It had taken Naruto some time to learn to navigate the labyrinth of these corridors. He realizes, as he traverses them swiftly now, that this bizarre skill is one he will never use again.</p><p>The kumicho is a fan of naturalistic scenes, so the central courtyard is populated by all manner of exotic flora. The smell of jasmine is particularly prominent this evening.</p><p>It’s mid-inhale—because the kumicho can be accused of many things, but never of having poor taste—that Naruto hears a murmur.</p><p>“She’s sent <em>Akatsuki</em>?”</p><p>Naruto slows immediately when he hears this name. The Akatsuki are a for-hire mercenary group specializing in assassination, so this can only mean one thing. That too, the yakuza only opt to outsource their dirty work when an assassination is high profile.</p><p>“Quiet,” he hears hissed. “Somewhere. Do you want the world to hear?”  </p><p>Naruto pulls away from the rest and turns in the direction of the voices he had heard. The soft buzz of whispered conversation makes the task of tracking easy—the pair had chosen, of all rooms, one with a paper-thin shoji door. But it admittedly takes some careful maneuvering to ensure his shadow cannot be seen.</p><p>“—I thought he was protected?” he hears.</p><p>“The kumicho and Madara might be in business together,” the second voice scoffs, “but the ballsy fool is building a case <em>against</em> <em>her</em>. It’s clear that Madara doesn’t control him.”</p><p>Naruto’s stomach fills with foreboding dread. Sluggishly, pieces begin to slot into place. Kakashi’s mysterious contact—a lawyer. A lawyer connected to Madara.</p><p>“So there is a mole.”</p><p>“Undoubtedly. How else could he have gotten his information?”</p><p>There’s a pause in the conversation. Then, dryly: “Others have tried before. Do you think, if he were less capable, that the kumicho wouldn’t have placed a hit on him?”</p><p>Naruto stumbles back, rapidly paling. <em>No</em>.</p><p>“After tonight, I imagine, Uchiha Itachi’s capabilities will be a distant memory.”</p><p>He takes off at a dead sprint, entirely uncaring of the alarmed shouts that erupt from the room as he betrays his location. He is similarly deaf to the voices that yell at him as he zips past what suddenly feels like endless courtyard, muscling bodies out of the ay. A woman with short, red hair pulls up to the main house on a motorcycle just as he exits the large entry double doors.</p><p>Naruto shoves her off and swings himself onto the leather seat in one continuous motion, pressing down hard on the gas immediately.</p><p>Cars and people are a blur around him as he drives like a maniac. There very well may be people after him, given how he had left—he has no idea. Distantly, he’s aware of vehicles honking furiously at him as he breaks every single traffic law in existence. He does not have it in him <em>to care.</em></p><p>He reaches the estate in an impossible twenty minutes. He doesn’t bother cutting the engine as he leaps off the motorcycle. He takes some care to be quiet as he enters the large, sprawling house. The rooms are all dark, as he expects, because it’s almost ten at night. Naruto shifts his head rapidly, searching for some existence of life. If he can find Itachi or Sasuke, if he can warn them—</p><p>Naruto takes the stairs to the second level two at a time, where he knows the bedrooms are. Halfway up the stairs, he hears a hoarse cry.</p><p>His blood runs cold, head snapping to the left. A large set of brass doors, just slightly ajar, meet his gaze.</p><p>“<em>Shoot</em>, <em>Sasuke,</em>” he hears his soulmate’s voice, harsh and strained.</p><p>The sound of it has Naruto hoisting himself over the bannister, feet landing silently on the carpeted floor.</p><p>He angles his gaze through the gap in the door and takes in the scene with his heart thudding violently in his chest. Two dead bodies litter the floor, strewn over chaise lounges and carpets. At one end of the library is Itachi, holding a long ceremonial blade clearly pulled from one of the many mounted displays above—it is coated in blood from end to hilt.</p><p>On the other, Sasuke sits on the ground against a book shelf, a gun held loosely in his hands. There is blood splashed across his face, and his eyes are blank; he looks catatonic.</p><p>Naruto realizes the cause for Itachi’s command a second later as a tall man with various piercings rises sharply from the ground—too close to Sasuke and too far from Itachi for him to interfere. From description, he knows this is the Akatsuki’s leader, Pein.</p><p>“<em>SHOOT!” </em>Itachi roars.</p><p>Sasuke flinches, hands trembling as he raises the weapon. He looks terrified as he does it. Naruto knows that the act will haunt him for the rest of his life.</p><p>So Naruto raises his arm, unblinking, and fires two precise rounds: one into Pein’s heart and the other into his head.</p><p>And Pein crumples to the ground on his front; he does not move again.</p><p>Silence echoes thunderously in the room.</p><p>“Who—?” Sasuke exhales, standing up and swaying slightly. Itachi is instantly at his side, supporting him. Then, those dark eyes snap to Naruto with lightning speed, locating the source of the shots unerringly.</p><p>The look on Itachi’s face changes starkly.</p><p>“Naruto,” Sasuke says hoarsely, gaze resting on him with shock.</p><p>Entirely on auto-pilot, Naruto raises the cellphone in his hand to his ear.</p><p>“Naruto?” Kakashi answers on the first ring, voice sharp.</p><p>“I have three bodies at the Uchiha estate, taichou,” Naruto says. “I’m checking their vitals now.”</p><p>He moves across the room swiftly, pressing two fingers to each of their throats. All the while, he is aware of Itachi’s gaze burning into him.</p><p>“They found out about the case we were building? Fuck.”</p><p>“Yes,” Naruto says shortly. “Both brothers were in the house tonight. Both are safe, for now.”</p><p>“And the attackers?”</p><p>“Naruto,” Sasuke asks hoarsely, standing. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>“Two are dead,” he pronounces, tone absolutely even. He pauses at a woman with purple hair. “The woman is still alive, but she’s bleeding out rapidly from a stab wound. She will need an ambulance.”</p><p>“Already on its way. I’m sending back-up as well in case the Yamaguchi-gumi invited anyone else to try their luck tonight. Sit tight.”</p><p>“Yes, taichou.” Naruto presses the end button and slips the cellphone back into his pant pocket. He turns to Sasuke, trying his utmost to avoid Itachi. He doesn’t have the willpower now to withstand that.</p><p>“Are you okay, bastard?” he asks softly.</p><p>“I don’t understand,” Sasuke responds, laughing a bit hysterically. He shakes his head. “How are you here? You’re one of them, aren’t you…Were you with them?”</p><p>“No, Sasuke,” Naruto says quickly, firmly.</p><p>“What are you saying?” Sasuke asks, desperately now.</p><p>And Naruto pauses, now, because his soulmate’s dark eyes are boring more forcefully into him than ever, and being the recipient of the full intensity of this gaze is—</p><p>“He’s a police officer,” Itachi states lowly, voice unreadable.</p>
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</p><p>Disclaimer: Images not mine! From <a href="https://i.pinimg.com/474x/fc/c6/c8/fcc6c8a45f04ad820be13922d110dc4b.jpg">here</a> and <a href="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/41/44/cf/4144cfc1c35d17557091b663f9850ef2.jpg">here</a> respectively</p>
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  <strong>Author's Note: </strong>
</p><p>Soooooo</p><p>This is not at all what I intend to be the end.</p><p>But, like, I wanted to gauge interest / see if it was worth continuing?</p><p>Let me know below :)</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Mirage - Part II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A swift sweep over the estate reveals much of what Naruto has expected. EMTs and police officers and detectives swarm the area, their voices a steady hum as they catalogue the body count: the security personnel, the cook, the servants—not even the gardener has been spared.</p><p>“There you are.”</p><p>Naruto turns at the superintendent’s familiar drawl. He had arrived on the estate shortly after midnight, a steaming cup of coffee nursed in one hand. He hands it now to Naruto.</p><p>“Thanks,” he says, hand curling around the cup. He doesn’t move to drink it.</p><p>“Was that the first man you’ve killed?” Kakashi asks pleasantly. His gaze tracks the parade of wrapped corpses being carried out the open doors.</p><p>Naruto angles a look at him. “If it wasn’t, I think I’d be in trouble.”</p><p>The superintendent sighs in the manner of someone being told he needs to work overtime. He leans against the opposite wall, head turning a beat later to look at him. “I know you’re not naïve, Naruto. If I had detected an ounce of genuine naivete in any of our meetings, I never would have allowed this." His eyelids slide to half-mast. "But there is the jaded upbringing of a shitty childhood—and then there is killing someone.”</p><p>Naruto looks down.</p><p>“The other option was worse,” he says finally. He changes the subject. “Is Uchiha-san dropping the case?”  </p><p>Kakashi arches a brow, but allows it. “He’s the uncompromising sort. No, I imagine he’ll see this through to the end. That being said, he has always taken his brother’s safety seriously. There will be, I expect, substantial changes around here.”</p><p>A peculiar force enters the older man's gaze then. He makes no attempt to hide it; none of its affect, therefore, is mitigated.</p><p>“You’ve done a good job,” Kakashi says abruptly. He stretches out a hand and pats Naruto’s back, the touch fleeting. “Officers get a month after long term operations like these. Take it, Uzumaki.”</p><p>“Yeah, maybe—”</p><p>“It’s not a request,” the superintendent hums, eyes crinkling in a smile. He walks off without another word, waving his hand without looking back.</p><p>Naruto watches him go. The weak smile dissipates from his face. He stares down at the coffee in his hands. Tilting it in evaluation, he brings it slowly to his lips. The drink scarcely glances his tongue before he blanches.</p><p>When he makes it outside, he makes sure to dump the coffee in the grass.</p><p>“<em>Naruto.</em>”</p><p>He stills like a deer in the headlights, convinced that he's been caught desecrating the Uchiha’s manicured grounds by someone who cares very much. Only, when he turns, it's Sasuke and not the vengeful ghost of the gardener that he had half anticipated. Itachi's eyes flick in his direction as well, in that way Naruto knows is pure, instinctive reaction to his brother's distraction. A brief impression of fathomless, tar-black eyes, nonetheless devastating, besieges him like a physical touch--before that attention coolly returns to the medic attending Sasuke.</p><p>When he recovers, Naruto tries to leave with a wave not unlike the one Kakashi had given him earlier.</p><p>“Get back here,” Sasuke hisses with impressive venom. Blood drips from his hairline.</p><p>Naruto grimaces and does not move.</p><p>“Sir, please sit down,” one of the medical professionals orders, “you could be concussed—”</p><p>“You need medical attention, Sasuke,” Naruto answers, looking away. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”</p><p>“<em>Get. In.</em>” His eyes are edged with red, and he looks as dangerous as Naruto’s ever seen him—like someone who might have pulled that trigger after all, if Naruto had not.</p><p>“If you could accommodate us, sir,” one of the medics mutters below her breath, “I think he’ll stop resisting.”</p><p>Naruto feels like his head is underwater. Some voice whispers in the back of his mind—perhaps rationality—and somehow, impossibly, he finds himself slowly stepping inside the ambulance.</p><p>There’s only so much room in the vehicle; large as it appears from the outside, it wasn’t meant for the small army of medics and then company of three. He ends up pressed against Itachi’s side.</p><p>The entire ride, Naruto is aware of every breath that shudders out of him, of its volume and speed—too fast? too loud? He’s hyperaware as well that he can <em>feel</em> the musculature that Itachi normally keeps hidden beneath loose, if well-tailored, clothing. Muscles, firm and undeniable, push back against him each time there’s a bump in the road, evidence of the raw strength that had subdued the Akatsuki before Naruto had arrived.</p><p>Absurd urges rise within him. Outrageous. He wants to collapse against this strength, shatter like a wave against this cliffside. Wants to close his eyes and have those arms—stronger than he had thought—hold his tired, broken weight.</p><p>With strenuous effort, he manages not to attempt any of these things.</p><hr/><p>When they reach the hospital, Sasuke is carted immediately into an examination room that even Itachi is not permitted to enter. It becomes clear that no doctor is going to let Naruto into a room with Sasuke tonight, if they’re not even going to let Itachi in. He is wary, as well, of outstaying the welcome of the man beside him.</p><p>Naruto’s head bows as he pretends to peruse the floor. He probably already has. “I’ll leave now—”</p><p>“A moment, if you don’t mind,” Itachi cuts in, expression unreadable.</p><p>His palms are suddenly clammy.</p><p>As he watches, Itachi twists the door knob of an office opposite the examination room. Naruto hesitates, but ultimately steps inside. The lights flicker on in response.</p><p>His body thrums with trained panic as the door shuts. It’s Pavlovian now. No good has ever come from conversations between the two of them, alone. Not for Naruto.</p><p>Naruto grits his teeth and straightens to his full height. But he’s older now, he reminds himself. He’s no longer a lovestruck teenager, scrabbling for scraps that will never come his way. He’s no longer the runt of the orphanage with dirt under his fingernails, dreaming for miracles that reality does not mete out.</p><p>“I knew there was an undercover officer. I did not remotely contemplate that it was you.”</p><p>Naruto nods, face determinedly affable. “And you were the lawyer.”</p><p>“Indeed.” Like his expression—like almost every single thing about him—Itachi’s voice is impossible to analyze.</p><p>Naruto waits. He traces the slight condensation on the glass window, spidery trails above the air conditioning unit. He waits as the air conditioning unit rattles, swelling to occupy the space of unspoken words. He hears a click as the lights return to hibernation, switching due to the lack of movement from either of them for a prolonged amount of time, and waits still.</p><p>Eventually, Naruto shifts toward the door.</p><p>“I owe you a debt.”</p><p>Naruto jerks to a stop. His head swings back.</p><p>His brain processes the words sluggishly. Then, he’s shaking his head, words halting: “He…would have done it.”</p><p>“He would have hesitated. And even if he had managed to pull the trigger in time, it would have ruined him.”</p><p>This judgement of Sasuke’s character, which has never struck Naruto as particularly moralistic—rather the opposite, in fact—surprises him.</p><p>Itachi reads his shock with ease. “Sasuke is not weak,” he clarifies, turning his head to survey something past Naruto, “but he is weak to this.”</p><p>Naruto's eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“The official story was a car accident,” he reveals calmly. “In actuality, our parents were murdered at the estate. Gunshot wounds to the head: a cold, clean execution, all things considered. That means very little, of course, to a nine year old.”</p><p>Horror stiffens every inch of Naruto's body.</p><p>Itachi’s face turns upward to contemplate the ceiling. “I was out of the country at the time. Sasuke was the one who found them. There were aunts and uncles around him in the aftermath—but he was alone, for all intents and purposes, in those twenty four hours before I returned. By then, he would not talk; he could barely look at me. It took nearly a year for him to begin eating properly again. The nightmares lasted longer still. This is all to say--holding that gun himself, tonight, may have done irreparable damage to him.”</p><p>A siren blares in the street outside. The glass of the window hum slightly, reverberating in response to the shrill pitch.</p><p>“I think that I have made it clear,” Itachi says softly, with steel, as his eyes snap down to Naruto again, “that I will do anything to protect Sasuke. There is no limit, no rationality to restrict what I would do to shield him from further harm. I do not generally care whom I wrong in pursuing that end. It is inconsequential to me.”</p><p>(Naruto would have known this even if it hadn’t been said.)</p><p>Something passes silently in the darkness of Itachi’s gaze, quicker than he can track. “But I can admit this. You are not what I assumed you were, Uzumaki.”</p><p>The words ring in his ears. It takes him more than is acceptable to respond. Naruto manages, somehow, to swallow, throat painfully dry. “I did my job.”</p><p>“Yes,” Itachi agrees. “And I cannot accept even now that someone who has hurt him as you have, after what Sasuke has already withstood, could be deserving of him. But my personal qualms, regrettably, mean little in the face of this debt to you.”</p><p>The older man crosses his arms, face exempt of all expression. “So ask.”</p><p>Naruto can see the cold anger in his frame, how it strains him to offer these words.</p><p>And Naruto—</p><p>Naruto wishes, aches, that these words were offered to him in a different context. That Itachi was not expecting a ludicrous request for <em>Sasuke </em>but for something else entirely (a touch from those hands, a graze from those palms, just a single brush—).</p><p>He bites down until his gums protest. It helps him reassemble himself together. His brain, slowly, begins to work. “I’m not saying what I did was right, back then,” he says, haltingly, “but it was never what you’ve made it out to be. I’ve...I've never seen Sasuke made a victim to anyone.”</p><p>He raises his head, voice sharp.</p><p>“And he’s my friend. If my job isn’t enough to convince you, that should be—that there isn’t any debt to pay.”</p><p>He turns to the door, his hand reaching out blindly for the knob. His fingers scrabble for a second before he finds it, and then he’s stepping into the hallway.</p><p>Naruto’s nostrils flare at the cloying smell of perfume.</p><p>“Itachi?”</p><p>A woman stands in the same corridor. She looks as beautiful as the last time Naruto saw her, statuesque and elegant in another pantsuit. Her face is a mask of calm, but her eyes widen with relief at the man behind Naruto.</p><p>She passes by Naruto without a glance, expensive heels a light staccato against the hospital floor, to go to him.</p><p>Naruto knows he shouldn’t, but he does. His gaze trails her, following her back and the short stream of her immaculate hair—right until she's in his arms.</p><p>“You should have called me,” she says, softly, intimately.</p><p>He can’t stand to watch them for a second longer. He continues down the corridor, eyes stinging. He keeps anything more at bay by sheer force of will as streams of doctors and nurses pass by him.</p><p>He doesn’t stop until he finds a door with a lofted sign above indicating a stairwell. He shoves it open without finesse, desperate to get out of the suffocating press of the hallway. The metallic door hits the stairway wall with a thunderous clang.</p><p>“<em>Jesus</em>,” someone sputters.</p><p>Naruto’s head swivels to find a pink-haired woman sitting on the steps, her legs spread unconcernedly wide. The front of her scrubs are splattered with blood. A cigarette dangles from her open mouth.</p><p>“Hey,” she says, brow furrowing. “Hey, you okay?”</p><p>He raises a rough fist to his eyes, swiping across them. “Are you even allowed to smoke that here—?” he mutters, strained.</p><p>“Quiet,” she hisses. She leans back a second later with an arched brow. “If you looked a little more closely, you would see that it isn’t actually lit…”</p><p>He turns his head to the side, losing the war to control his face. His voice, he is thankful to realize, manages to sound mostly normal. “Then what’s the point?”</p><p>“It’s a metaphor, obviously.”</p><p>This is bizarre enough that Naruto risks shifting his head back.</p><p>The woman looks incredulous. “You haven’t seen that vile spew of a teenage hospital romance? I thought everyone saw it.”</p><p>“Guess not,” Naruto says, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He can feel his heart still racing in his chest. “I’ll just let you—”</p><p>“Sit down.”</p><p>He pauses. She’s looking at him again, eyes narrowed.</p><p>“My name’s Sakura,” she says, unblinking. “What’s yours?”</p><p>He contemplates leaving. “Naruto,” he grunts.</p><p>“Well, Naruto, the honest-to-god truth is that smoking is a bitch to quit, and this is me trying,” Sakura announces easily. “Do me a favor and distract me?”</p><p>Naruto stares for a second. She beckons him rudely forward, flapping her hand. He thoughtlessly crosses his arms—but it’s the hands that wrap slowly around each bicep in hollow imitation of being held, perhaps, that give him away.</p><p>“I’m fine,” he says, stepping back.</p><p>She nods and doesn’t look like she believes him for a second.</p><p>It comes forth all at once. He fractures without warning, and then he’s gasping for air, inhaling more than he’s exhaling because he can’t breathe, and fuck, <em>fuck</em>, he feels like he’s bursting apart right at the seams. It’s not a conscious choice, sitting down, but his knees slowly give, and then he’s bowed over, silent gasps leaving his mouth.</p><p>It occurs to him that this woman knows nothing at all and that he will never see her again.</p><p>He gives himself these excuses for the words that leave his mouth.</p><p>“There’s someone else,” Naruto rasps, face crumpling.</p><p>"Ah."</p><p>A hand, warm and dry, settles on the back of his neck.</p><p>“That’s the worst,” Sakura grunts, shaking her head. “Absolutely no good. But there are others—”</p><p>“Not like him.”</p><p>“I know it feels like that in the moment.”</p><p>“You don’t understand,” he whispers, raising his head. His eyes are probably bloodshot. “He’s…he was supposed to be…<em>mine</em>.”</p><p>He feels her stiffen. “Soulmate?”</p><p>Naruto shudders.</p><p>“I see.” She doesn’t say anything for a long time. Then: “Not involved in that business myself. No mark. I’m outside the golden window, too, for someone with my name to be searching for me. This is all to say…I can’t understand, but I can imagine. That it must hurt.”</p><p>She winces a second later. “Sorry. That was insensitive.”</p><p>He stares at his calloused palms.</p><p>“Come on,” she says quickly, pulling him up. “I’ve had a shitty day too. I’ll buy you dinner.”</p><hr/><p>Three hours later Naruto stumbles into a small, but exceptionally tidy apartment. His vision swims from the amount of sake he’s consumed; the body leaning heavily against him gives a triumphant cry.</p><p>“Bed!” the woman cries.</p><p>She lunges forward—a very ambitious feat, considering the bed is nearly ten feet away. Naruto manages to catch her. She bellows laughter against his neck.</p><p>He half-guides her, half drags her, to the mattress. When he dumps her, she pulls him down with her.</p><p>“I need to go,” Naruto huffs, struggling against her unexpected strength.</p><p>The alcohol hasn’t helped. It has only slowed his miserable thoughts down.</p><p>“Go?” she demands, eyes snapping open. For a moment, she seems stunningly sober. Then, her lips curve into a sloppy smile. “Where?”</p><p>He stops trying to pull away for a second, to consider that. He’s been living with the yakuza for the past year—obviously, he can’t return there. But before that, he had been at the police academy. He can’t exactly return there, he acknowledges now.</p><p>Naruto realizes, only in this moment, that he has nowhere to go.</p><p>“Oh,” he breathes.</p><p>“Stay.” She yanks him down. It’s a rather luxurious queen-sized bed, considering it doesn’t seem like she lives with anyone else.</p><p>He blinks blearily up at the ceiling. She shifts beside him, propping herself on an elbow to look down at him.</p><p>He covers his eyes with the back of his forearm.</p><p>They’re silent for so long, that he’s certain that she has fallen asleep. Naruto turns onto his side, eyes widen open in the dark. It’s when he hears “Can I kiss you?” that he realizes she isn’t asleep after all.</p><p>Astonishingly, Naruto doesn’t have it within him to react more than to whisper: “Go to sleep.”</p><p>“Let me,” she insists. She sounds more sober now.</p><p>“I don’t think I’m capable of sleeping with a woman,” he says bluntly. He curls tighter around himself. He doesn’t think he could sleep with anyone else, really.</p><p>“It’s not about that,” Sakura says, voice warm.</p><p>His arm slowly slides off his face. There’s nothing amorous in her gaze.</p><p>Her warm, dry hand slides easily into his. “You just look desperately like…like you need someone to be kind to you.”</p><p>Others in his place, he knows, would probably be offended. These words would make them feel pitied, looked down upon. The simple fact is that not many people have condescended to do even this in his life, that it feels...</p><p>Naruto trembles, before he nods.</p><p>And she catches him on an exhale, lips grave and sure. It is utterly chaste, except for how long it lasts. Her fingers curl around the sides of his head and hold him for what feel like an eternity. She breaks away some time later, rolling onto her back. Her hand still holds his.</p><p>“If anyone asks,” she says, nudging his shoulder, “we had a gloriously passionate one-night stand. It can’t get out that I bring strange men into my bed and sleep—oh, fuck. No, no, please don’t cry. It'll be alright. Come here.”</p><p>She wraps an arm around him and pulls his back into her chest.</p><hr/><p>“Who’s that?” Sasuke demands.</p><p>Naruto looks up from the cafeteria pudding. “Who?”</p><p>“The woman waving at you. There.”</p><p>He follows the black haired man’s gaze and sees the pink haired surgical resident whose bed he had slept in three days ago. She grins at him and waves even more wildly.</p><p>Naruto’s face warms.</p><p>“Who?” Sasuke presses.</p><p>She makes a ‘call me’ sign with her hand, smirking.</p><p>“No one,” he answers.</p><p>Sasuke makes an incomprehensible noise under his breath. “Seriously.”</p><p>Naruto’s attention returns to him. He frowns a little. “Are you still mad?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“But I explained—”</p><p>“You let me believe for a full year that you had sold your life to the yakuza,” Sasuke growls.</p><p>Naruto leans back, still bewildered by his vitriol. “I had to. I told you that, bastard. I don’t get why you care so much anyway—”</p><p>“It was annoying,” Sasuke snaps. “So? What happens now?”</p><p>Naruto swallows a mouthful of the pudding. “I’m off for the month. After that, I report again for duty.”</p><p>“What does that <em>entail</em>?”</p><p>He scratches the back of his neck.</p><p>“I don’t know all of it yet.” At Sasuke’s incredulous look, he explains, “I went undercover right after graduating from the police academy. Not really sure what the usual day to day is like.”</p><p>Sasuke sighs aggressively. “And where are you staying?”</p><p>Naruto idly wonders when Sasuke had become a mother-hen.</p><p>“Haven’t found something permanent yet,” he admits.</p><p>“Sasuke.”</p><p>Naruto shifts quickly and finds Itachi standing behind him. The color drains from his face.</p><p>“You shouldn’t be out of the hospital room,” Itachi frowns. His voice, though, is gentle even while chiding.</p><p>Sasuke ducks his head.</p><p>“The doctor told you to take it easy. You shouldn’t feel any pressure to do anything for the next few days—”</p><p>“I’m fine, aniki,” Sasuke mutters. He looks up sharply. “In fact. I was just about to tell Naruto that he’ll be staying with us.”</p><p>Itachi’s brow arches slightly. He finally looks at Naruto.</p><p>Naruto shifts forward in sharp protest. “<em>Sasuke</em>.”</p><p>“A year,” Sasuke decides with condemning finality. “For the year you lied.”</p><p>“I see.” Itachi’s expression is blank.</p><p>“That’s really not—”</p><p>“Be quiet, moron.” Sasuke sounds rather pleased with himself.</p><p>Later, when it’s just Sasuke and him, Naruto tries to list, politely, all the reasons this is a terrible idea (all but the real reason)—then, less politely.</p><p>It doesn’t work.</p><hr/><p>Living at the Uchiha estate, as he expects, is both torture and a macabre sort of heaven.</p><p>Dinner, he learns, is sacrosanct among Itachi and Sasuke. Breakfast and lunch might happen separately, but if Itachi is at home, then he and Sasuke will always eat dinner together. Because of Sasuke, Naruto is incidentally included as well. He knows it’s not his presence that Itachi wishes to see every evening.</p><p>It’s a sort of freedom he hadn’t had before, however--to feast so openly with his gaze.</p><p>They all have dinner together every night—he, Itachi, and Sasuke—and he spends almost every moment of the meals sneaking glances. He learns that Itachi eats everything without complaint, never fails to mention his gratitude to the servants and the cooks...but that he lingers longer on each mouthful when the food is spicy or crispy or salty. He learns that his soulmate likes to have a cup of tea after dinner, rather than a glass of wine, something that smells sharply of cardamom and clove, and that for dessert, his preference is less sweet rather than more.</p><p>Naruto’s aware, of course, that the same attention is not returned toward him. Despite their proximity, indeed, not much of Itachi’s demeanor changes. If anything, his regard merely mutates to another variant of cold, but less attentive: Naruto’s presence is regrettable, but no longer considered a threat.</p><p>What makes living at the estate hellish, however, is not this. It’s that every now and again, a fourth person comes to the house.</p><p>He tries to be anywhere else when this happens. He eats lunch with Sakura, drags Sasuke out for some contrived athletic competition, swings by the department even if he’s off duty, has ramen with Iruka.</p><p>But there are times when Naruto returns from work, bone-tired and sluggish on his feet because it’s well past midnight, and he sees her sleek, expensive car in the driveway, and he has no choice but to go in. He shuts his eyes as he walks, these nights. He doesn’t trust himself. He knows that if he <em>sees </em>them together—his hands in her hair, his lips on her throat, her lips on his—he might kill her.</p><p>He wrestles each and every day—horrifically, disgustingly, selfishly—with the desire to kill her.</p><p>Sometimes, Naruto imagines it. Then, he remembers that—out of all the people on this planet—<em>she</em> is the one Itachi has chosen. He can’t find any real pleasure in envisioning her death anymore, when he remembers this.</p><hr/><p>“I’ve met someone,” Sasuke mutters six months in.</p><p>At the sensation of that gaze on him, Naruto’s head slowly rises. Black eyes bore into him for just a moment, so briefly he wonders if he imagines it, because when he blinks Itachi’s attention is devoted fully to Sasuke.</p><p>“Someone?” Itachi says, eyebrows raised. He sets down his cutlery.</p><p>“Yes,” Sasuke returns. He blinks and looks a little ill. “I think I might…”</p><p>“Like her?” Naruto offers.</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>“It seems like you know more of this story than I do,” Itachi says after a deliberate pause. It’s a rare occasion that the older man actually looks at him. Naruto’s abdomen clenches reflexively.</p><p>He remains this way when he recognizes that the look on Itachi’s face is...odd.</p><p>“Of course he does,” Sasuke mutters. “He’s my— Well, you’re my <em>brother</em>.”</p><p>“I thought we were close,” Itachi teases, even as his gaze stays on Naruto.</p><p>Sasuke rolls his eyes. “Her name’s Hanabi, in case you were interested. I was planning to bring her to the luncheon next month.”</p><p>“I look forward to meeting her,” Itachi says. He turns now with a smile to his brother. “What does she do?”</p><p>“She’s in the year below me,” Sasuke answers brusquely. “I met her at the dojo on campus. She fights…very well for someone her size.”</p><p>He stifles a laugh at Sasuke’s graceful retelling of Hanabi pummeling Sasuke into the ground.</p><p>It appears that Itachi can read between the lines, however, because his eyebrows rise sharply. “You have a troubling type, Sasuke,” the older man says calmly.</p><p>“Type?” Sasuke echoes, eyebrows raising.</p><p>Naruto pushes away from the table, good humor suddenly absent. “I’ll be turning in. Early start tomorrow.”</p><hr/><p>Something changes in the next few weeks. Naruto isn’t sure when. The thought that he might have failed to recognize it for some time is a sobering realization, however--especially given his job.</p><p>It happens in the middle of a weekday dinner, an entirely <em>usual</em> sort of occasion all in all. He’s leaning forward, spoon filled precariously full with soup, poised to swallow. He’s had to skip lunch, so he’s particularly eager for it, and for no particular reason, no reason at all, his eyes flick upward as his mouth closes around the spoon—</p><p>—and he realizes that Itachi is staring at him.</p><p>Only, not just staring. Not just that odd look from dinner many nights ago. This burning gaze is relentless and intent, like Itachi is <em>searching </em>for something from him.</p><p>Naruto freezes. Dark eyes hold his glance for a second, admitting in this impossible moment something like dissatisfaction, before sliding away.</p><p>The spoon drops back into his bowl, causing a small splatter. Naruto is blind and deaf to it.</p><p>Later that night, instead of heading into his room, he pauses at the double doors to the library. It’s the same room he had entered nearly seven months ago to kill the head of Akatsuki. The urge to distract himself, lest he go mad, is so strong that he at last pushes the double doors open to step inside even with the threat of those darker memories.</p><p>Naruto was too poor growing up to afford personal books and then, after, he had been undercover. But Sakura had recently forced him to read a mystery novel that he had enjoyed—a classic, she had told him, by the apparently famous Yokomizo Seishi. Naruto hadn't ever heard of him before, but he searches now among the rows and rows of books for others by the same author. Most of the books are leatherbound and aged, but a few texts jut out a bit more, newer and more recently read.</p><p>His eyes widen with triumph just as his fingers brush the section for ‘Y’—at the same time, the doors behind Naruto shut.</p><p>His response is instinctive. He grabs the gun he has yet to remove from his back pocket and spins.</p><p>When he sees who he has aimed at, his hand spasms.</p><p>“Fuck,” he exhales, dropping sharply to pick up the fallen gun. His hand shakes slightly as he holsters the weapon again.</p><p>Itachi watches him straighten, gestures at the lounge chair a few feet away from him. Naruto remains where he is. After a moment, the other man steps forward and takes the chair for himself. He crosses his legs, interlocks his hands, and peruses Naruto with a smooth expression.</p><p>“You’re taking this better than I would have thought,” Itachi observes, voice cool.</p><p>Naruto stills.</p><p>“I wouldn’t presume to claim that I understand how soulmates operate, but I imagined the draw was somewhat...compelling.”</p><p>He feels like the air has been punched out of him</p><p>“If you believed that,” Naruto rasps, “why would you try to keep Sasuke and me apart?”</p><p>He steps back until his shoulders hit the ridge of one of the shelves, biting down to control his expression.</p><p>(<em>If it were true, wouldn’t you look at me too?</em>)</p><p>“It’s a fallacy to assume the universe always makes the correct choice.” Itachi’s gaze traces the stained glass windows above their head. “If it did, why would those who commit crimes live without punishment so often?”</p><p>Naruto's eyes drop to the ground, tracing the pattern on the persian rug with a frenzied sort of desperation. “I guess, then, that you don’t believe in something like an afterlife,” he manages.</p><p>“I believe in human will,” his soulmate answers. “We all have agency. If not to intervene, then what else?”</p><p>“And if you intervene and you’re wrong?”</p><p>Itachi’s eyes darken perilously. “Indeed,” he says, at last. “What if.”</p><p>Naruto’s head spins. He needs to leave, he is certain. He can't make sense of any of this. He isn’t sure he wants to.</p><p>“There will never be anything more than friendship between Sasuke and me.” Naruto stares straight ahead. “You can...rest at ease.”</p><p>He doesn’t linger to witness Itachi’s response. He goes straight to his room.</p><hr/><p>On a Sunday in early April, Naruto sits outside at one of many round tables arranged for a luncheon on the Uchiha’s estate.</p><p>The beef on his plate is impeccably made. It tastes like dust in his mouth.</p><p>“Hyuga Hanabi,” the woman murmurs, silken hair sliding to frame her delicate chin as she turns to Itachi. “He didn’t tell me that you were <em>that </em>Hanabi. You’ll be making some old aunts and uncles very happy indeed.”</p><p>“I wasn’t aware,” is Itachi’s response, with a polite nod of apology. Naruto wonders if he imagines that mouth subtly shift a fraction downward before it returns to its former position.</p><p>If the woman—Yugao, Naruto now forces himself to call her—notices any oddness, she covers it with ease, smoothly turning back to Hanabi. “Remind me what you’re studying?”</p><p>Hanabi gathers her napkin to swipe lightly at her mouth. “Business administration.”</p><p>Yugao crosses her arms as she leans back, eyebrow arching. “So comparable pedigree <em>and </em>marketable skills. Well, if you ever want to lament the first-world challenges of being a rich man’s daughter, I’m happy to lend an ear. But it looks like you’ll have both the traditionalists and the pragmatics on your side.”</p><p>“It seems you do as well, Yugao-san,” Hanabi murmurs politely. “I’ve tracked your career for some years now. It's quite impressive.”</p><p>Yugao’s lips curve into an amused smile. Stiffly, Naruto turns his head to the side to swallow the last of his red wine.</p><p>“I accept any and all flattery, so thank you. But on to my second order of business,” Yugao says, flashing a pretty smile at Itachi. “There’s someone else at this table that I’ve been rather remiss in knowing. Even though you live here, you never seem to be around?”</p><p>Naruto's fingers tremble around the glass. He carefully places it back on the table.</p><p>“I’m afraid I don’t remember your name.” Pink, petal lips curve in pretty apology at him.</p><p>“Naruto.” His lips twitch belatedly into a returning grin. He hopes it isn't too strained.</p><p>“I know from Itachi that you’re Sasuke’s friend. How did you two meet?” Her head tilts to the side. She seems to have no recollection that they had seen each other at a hospital, six months ago.</p><p>His nails bite into his thighs beneath the cover of the table. Somehow, he musters the will to be able to meet her gaze. “We went to Konoha together.”</p><p>She leans forward, intent. “Konoha? Are your parents here as well then—”</p><p>“I’m not like the typical student from Konoha, actually,” Naruto interrupts, rubbing at the back of his neck. He isn’t ashamed, however. He uses the motion as an excuse to not look at her. “I was a scholarship student.”</p><p>“Even more admirable," she says, eyebrows raising. "What university are you at these days?”</p><p>“Naruto isn’t going to any university,” Sasuke drawls. He continues to slice at his eel without looking up.</p><p>“Ah.” But this is her only slip, because she swiftly flashes another beautiful smile. “They do say the value of a college degree is diminishing over time. Perhaps, it’s become the smarter choice not to go?”</p><p>It’s obvious to them all that she says this as lip-service, not that she believes it. It’s not malicious, but it is clear that she doesn’t usually bother hiding her opinions. She does it now to be polite.   </p><p>Naruto is content to leave it as is. Following her interrogation into Hanabi, he’s aware that this recent conversation has framed him as  underachieving—he doesn’t particularly care to correct her impression. If she knew what he knew, she would understand that he <em>is</em>, if for different reasons.</p><p>Silence lapses between them. Sasuke stares oddly at him but shrugs.</p><p>Yugao’s attention begins to drift. A voice calls out her name from another table. She raises a graceful hand to wave back. Naruto reaches forward to pour some more wine into his glass, when--</p><p>“He’s a police officer,” the most unexpected voice at the table says.</p><p>Yugao’s eyes widen. Naruto’s do too.</p><p>“He gathered the evidence I used to prosecute the Yamaguchi-gumi kumicho,” Itachi continues, brusque and seemingly uninterested in his own words, “and was promoted for his efforts.”</p><p>Naruto forgets about the wine entirely. “It’s less impressive than it sounds,” he says haltingly. “It’s just one level up from private, which is the starting rank for—”</p><p>“Currently he’s a sergeant.”</p><p>Naruto’s head swings to Itachi. His second promotion had only happened a week ago, and he had only told Sasuke.</p><p>“I heard about that case,” Hanabi comments. “I have an uncle who’s a commissioner in Osaka, so I’m somewhat familiar with the ranks. That’s two promotions in, what, six months?”</p><p>Sasuke rolls his eyes. “As someone who went to school with him, I can confidently say that none of us knew the moron had it in him.”</p><p>Naruto notices that Yugao is looking rather strangely at Itachi. “That sounds quite impressive,” she says slowly.</p><p>He tears his gaze away. “It’s really not—” he starts.</p><p>“Record-breaking, apparently,” Itachi remarks perfunctorily, as though Naruto hasn’t spoken. With the same casual mien, he nods to a waiter. “Some water, please.”</p><p>Naruto stands abruptly, chest rising and falling. Now that, he knows, he definitely <em>did not </em>mention at a dinner.</p><p>They all turn toward him. His soulmate’s eyes fall in him a beat later than the others’.</p><p>“I’m feeling a little unwell,” Naruto says in a rush. “Just going to head to the bathroom—”</p><p>He’s turning even before he’s finished the sentence. And then, he’s walking as quickly as he can without running across the manicured grass leading up to the house.</p><p>One of the new servants, an elderly man called Eiji, frowns with concern at him as he bursts through a back entrance into the kitchens.</p><p>“Uzumaki-san, are you alright?”</p><p>“I’m fine,” he gasps. “I just need—”</p><p>“Is something wrong?” a familiar voice asks calmly from behind him.</p><p>Naruto spins on his heel.</p><p>Itachi tilts his head to the side. “A moment, Eiji-san,” he requests with unfailing respect, bowing his head.</p><p>Eiji bows back instantly, flustered by this deference. “Of course, Itachi-sama. No need for such…” He pulls another servant—a younger woman who Naruto has noticed nurses a bit of a crush on Itachi—along with him. She stares at them, mouth round, right until they both leave the room, door shutting silently behind them.</p><p>“Is there something wrong?” Itachi repeats when they are alone, words crisp.</p><p>Naruto stares at him. “That,” he says quietly, and points toward the door he had entered through. “Out there. What was that?”</p><p>He doesn’t react. “Did I misstate anything?”</p><p>Naruto’s face contorts.</p><p>Itachi’s attention seemingly turns to one of the stoves, which is lit and warming a brass pot. Pale long fingers reach out to switch the fire off.</p><p>“I didn’t ask you to do that. I don’t understand why you did.”  </p><p>Itachi’s gaze flicks to him, even. “I dislike misunderstandings.”</p><p>“You dislike<em> me</em>,” Naruto points out, breath ragged.</p><p>Itachi stares at him for a long time.</p><p>Finally, eyes narrowing fractionally, he says, “It’s not a question of liking. Simply of giving credit where credit is due—”</p><p>And Naruto knows he’s lost his mind, utterly, because he can’t begin to reel his control back from wherever it’s fled. “It wasn’t,” he charges, head still shaking. “You weren’t interested in giving me credit before.”</p><p>“Uzumaki—"</p><p>He takes a step back, paling.</p><p>“You can’t play with me like this. It isn’t fair.” It sounds more pleading than Naruto intends.</p><p>Itachi stiffens.</p><p>For a second, Naruto’s mind misconstrues the situation entirely. He must be delirious, he thinks after.</p><p>“There’s no point to you doing this,” he says frustratedly, but more controlled now. “Sasuke likes Hanabi. They’re <em>good </em>together. Even if I wanted to, it would be impossible for me to—”</p><p>“Why not?” Itachi asks suddenly.</p><p>And blood rushes in Naruto's ears, thunderous.</p><p>The strangest thing happens then. A transformation occurs before him, and it’s like a veil drops. Itachi’s intricate, refined features take on a sharper edge, his eyes go frighteningly dark, and his mouth becomes almost jagged.</p><p>“I told you I misjudged you. I admitted that I had been wrong.”</p><p>Naruto has no words for him. His mouth is slack.</p><p>“Anyone could tell from your expression at that table that you’re his soulmate,” Itachi continues, cold. “And I wondered how you could sit there, looking like that. I wondered how you could stand to hear those words and be silent—"</p><p>“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Naruto exhales.</p><p>His mouth twists. “I left the door wide open for you with that debt. I assumed, really, that it was only a matter of time before you told Sasuke of your identity—"</p><p>“You told me you would never approve,” Naruto shouts.</p><p>The rage on Itachi’s face grows. He takes a sudden, swift step forward. “I don’t. I can’t…<em>tolerate </em>the idea of it.”</p><p>They stare at each other in silence. They both breathe heavily in the silence. He can feel the heat in his face: a dangerous mix of anger, incredulity, and something else.</p><p>And, half-mad, Naruto feels himself begin to lose sense of the plot. This game—this miserable, sadistic game that’s positioned them apart, at odds—he starts to forget all the rules. He begins to shift forward, arms rising like creeping vines, straining for the sun.</p><p>He’s almost committed fully to this insanity when a gunshot fires outside.</p><p>The madness drains from Naruto in less than a second.</p><p>He moves with lightning speed to grab a gun he’s stashed behind the fruit bowl painting in the kitchen—one of many he’s stashed around the house since the Akatsuki’s assassination attempt. He doesn’t anticipate Itachi shouting his brother’s name and lunging past him.</p><p>Naruto’s face pales with terror. He barrels through the door at a dead sprint .</p><p>It had only been a handful of seconds, but Itachi is more than a few meters ahead of him, cutting across the expanse of manicured lawn with speed no lawyer should have. Naruto’s legs and lungs burn as he bursts desperately forward.</p><p>As they round the bend, he spots the gunman in the distance. He stands in the middle of the tables arranged for the luncheon, a figure dressed head to toe in black, arm poised still where he had shot his first bullet.</p><p>The gunman sees Itachi a fraction of a second after Naruto sees him. His mouth splits into a wide smile, and his gun arm moves swiftly and decisively.</p><p>Every infinitesimal partition of a second that Naruto should experience as he launches himself forward passes by in a blur. Wind whistles in his ears, sears his eyes like fire, from the sheer velocity he’s moving at, and then the gunshot rings in the air.</p><p>He and Itachi hit the ground hard.</p><p>Naruto gasps quietly.</p><p>“Get off me,” Itachi shouts in command, terrified eyes focused still on Sasuke.</p><p>Naruto shoves Itachi down, grits his teeth, and fires back with unerring aim. The gunman staggers back into one of the tables but doesn’t cry out. The black he’s wearing is Kevlar, Naruto realizes, which no bullet is going to get through.</p><p>Naruto rapidly scans the distance between them. At least ten meters. Under seven meters and a knife reliably wins against a gun. He goes full speed forward, angling his body to grab a steak knife from one of the tables as a bullet flies by his ear. Five meters, he calculates now.</p><p>The gunman comes to the same conclusion he does, abandoning his gun for a blade sheathed in his pant leg. Naruto’s vision swims as they collide, but his body moves with practiced ease. This, he has always been good at; under the yakuza, he had only gotten better.</p><p>It’s over in seconds. The steak knife sinks with sibilant hiss into the gunman’s throat, and he collapses on the ground.</p><p>“Search the grounds,” Naruto shouts at the security running toward him. “He might not be alone.”</p><p>The leader nods sharply, signaling the guards to different portions of the estate. Naruto steps forward to follow, but ends up staggering.</p><p>He hisses and looks downward to find that blood has bloomed across his dress shirt, soaking the entire front. It had felt like a pinprick, at first. Now, viciously, the pain balloons outward, erupting like wildfire.</p><p>When he looks up and finds Itachi standing in front of the gathering crowd of Japan’s elite, gaze uncharacteristically stunned.</p><p>He sees his mouth open, but the words distort in Naruto’s ears. For a moment, reality seems to fold into itself like a pinwheel. He shuts his eyes, panting. When he opens them again, he finds himself flat on the ground.</p><p>Shadows fall across his body.</p><p>“You’ve been shot,” Itachi says, voice flat. He kneels over him.</p><p>It takes Naruto a second to realize what he’s trying to do.</p><p>His eyes fly open with alarm. His hands wrap with all the strength he can muster around those pale forearms, preventing them from moving further.</p><p>“For fuck’s sake, Naruto,” he hears Sasuke shout.</p><p>Naruto cranes his head backward and catches sight of him, wide-eyed and hair unkempt like he’s been pulling at the strands. His gaze sweeps over the clamoring crowd, all of Japan’s elite, but pauses, eyes widening, when he sees one: an elegant, silent figure whose hands are drawn to her mouth in horror, hair like silk curling around her jaw.</p><p>Itachi’s muscles tense and break Naruto’ feeble hold.</p><p>Naruto’s gaze snaps back to him, terrified. “No,” he stammers, flinching back. “You can’t—”</p><p>“<em>Are </em>you crazy, Uzumaki?” his soulmate asks, voice harsh. Those hands, long and beautiful, move to where his shirt is tucked into his pants.</p><p>“Itachi,” he chokes out, coughing.</p><p>It’s the first time Naruto’s ever called him by his name. He doesn’t anticipate this—it doesn’t seem either Itachi does either—because his soulmate’s eyes flash with confusion when his body instinctively stills. He sees those eyes, dark as tar, grow even darker,</p><p>Then, his mouth goes flat, and he yanks the shirt upward.</p><p>As is inevitable, his gaze follows.</p><p>And Naruto will remember for the rest of his life what he sees on that face when the older man reads the name scrawled on his skin.</p><p>
  <em>...</em>
</p><p>This is when he loses consciousness.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>Author's Note:</strong>
</p><p>Hiding because I meant for this to be two parts...and now it's going to be three. Welp.</p><p>(Also this got way out of control. Collectively, I've written FIFTY pages. Like 20k words???)</p><p>As always, beautiful people, pls if you are able deign to pay me in comments :D Because of the holidays coming up, there's actually a good chance that with enough motivation I might finish this off soon...hehe...</p><p>P.S. I will update Masks soon! I swear!! &lt;3</p>
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